The Pearl Story Book: Stories and Legends of Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day
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Title: The Pearl Story Book: Stories and Legends of Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day
Compiler: Ada M. Skinner
Eleanor L. Skinner
Release date: December 6, 2010 [eBook #34571]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34571
Credits: Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEARL STORY BOOK: STORIES AND LEGENDS OF WINTER, CHRISTMAS, AND NEW YEAR'S DAY ***
Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE
PEARL STORY BOOK
_Stories and Legends of
Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day_
COMPILED BY
ADA M. SKINNER
AND
ELEANOR L. SKINNER
_Editors of "The Emerald Story Book,"
"The Topaz Story Book," "The Turquoise
Story Book," "Children's Plays," Etc._
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1919
Copyright 1910 by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
[Illustration: {Three shepherds look up at the sky, amazed}
_Drawn by Maxfield Parrish_]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers
for the use of valuable material in this book:
To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for permission to use "Holly" and
the legend of the "Yew" from "Shown to the Children Series"; to
Frederick A. Stokes Company for "The Voice of the Pine Trees," from
"Myths and Legends of Japan"; to the Wessels Company for "The First
Winter" by W. W. Canfield; to Julia Dodge for permission to use two
poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian Herald for a poem by
Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd for "The Pine
and the Flax" by Albrekt Segerstedt; to the Outlook Company for a
story by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for the poem "Who Loves
the Trees Best?"; to Laura E. Richards for her story "Christmas
Gifts"; to George Putnam and Sons for "Silver Bells" by Hamish Hendry,
and "The Happy Prince" by Oscar Wilde; to the Churchman for a story
by John P. Peters; to Dodd, Mead and Company for the story "Holly"
from the "Story Hour"; and "Prince Winter" from "The Four Seasons" by
Carl Ewald; to George Jacobs for "A Legend of St. Nicholas" from "In
God's Garden" by Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for "The New
Year's Bell" from "Christ-Child Tales" by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to
Jay T. Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for "The Snowball That Didn't
Melt" from "The Golden Goblet"; to the New York State Museum for
permission to use two stories contained in Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M.
Converse; to Small, Maynard and Company for "A Song of the Snow," from
"Complete Works of Madison Cawein."
The selections from James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, Celia
Thaxter, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret Deland, John
Townsend Trowbridge, and Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission
of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company,
authorized publishers of their works.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
PAGE
Winter (selection) _James Russell Lowell_ 2
The Ice King (Indian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 3
A Song of the Snow (poem) _Madison Cawein_ 9
King Frost and King Winter
(adapted) _Margaret T. Canby_ 11
The Snowstorm (poem) _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 18
The First Winter (Iroquois
legend) _W. W. Canfield_ 20
Snow Song (poem) _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 24
The Snow Maiden (Russian
legend. Translated from
the French) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 25
The Frost King (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 30
King Winter's Harvest _Selected_ 32
Old King Winter (poem) _Anna E. Skinner_ 36
Sheltering Wings _Harriet Louise Jerome_ 37
Snowflakes (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41
The Snow-Image _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 42
WINTER WOODS
The First Snow-Fall _James Russell Lowell_ 62
The Voice of the Pine Trees
(Japanese legend) _Frank Hadland Davis_ 63
The Pine Tree Maiden (Indian
legend) _Ada M. Skinner_ 68
The Holly _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 73
The Fable of the Three
Elms (poem) _Margaret E. Sangster, Jr._ 79
The Pine and the Willow _Mine Morishima_ 82
Why the Wild Rabbits Are
White in Winter
(Algonquin legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 86
The Yew _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 93
How the Pine Tree Did
Some Good _Samuel W. Duffield_ 95
A Wonderful Weaver (poem) _George Cooper_ 105
The Pine and the Flax _Albrekt Segerstedt_ 107
The Fir Tree (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 110
Why Bruin Has a Stumpy Tail
(Norwegian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 111
Pines and Firs _Mrs. Dyson_ 116
Who Loves the Trees Best?
(poem) _Selected_ 131
CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE
A Christmas Song _Phillips Brooks_ 134
The Shepherd Maiden's Gift
(Eastern legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 135
Christmas Gifts _Laura E. Richards_ 141
Silver Bells (poem) _Hamish Hendry_ 146
The Animals' Christmas Tree _John P. Peters_ 147
A Christmas Carol _Christina Rossetti_ 162
Holly _Ada M. Marzials_ 164
The Willow Man (poem) _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 175
The Ivy Green (selection) _Charles Dickens_ 178
Legend of St. Nicholas _Amy Steedman_ 179
Christmas Bells (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 197
A Night With Santa Claus _Anna R. Annan_ 198
A Child's Thought About
Santa Claus (poem) _Sydney Dayre_ 208
Charity in a Cottage _Jean Ingelow_ 210
The Waits (poem) _Margaret Deland_ 223
Where Love Is There God
Is Also (adapted) _Leo Tolstoi_ 225
God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen _Dinah Mulock Craik_ 234
THE GLAD NEW YEAR
The Glad New Year (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 236
The Bad Little Goblin's
New Year _Mary Stewart_ 237
Selection _Robert Herrick_ 248
The Queen of the Year (poem) _Edna Dean Proctor_ 249
The New Year's Bell _Andrea Hofer Proudfoot_ 250
The New Year _Selected_ 256
The Child and the Year (poem) _Celia Thaxter_ 257
A Masque of the Days _Charles Lamb_ 258
Ring Out, Wild Bells (poem) _Alfred Tennyson_ 262
MIDWINTER
The Bells (selection) _Edgar Allen Poe_ 264
A January Thaw _Dallas Lore Sharp_ 265
The Snow Man _Hans Christian Andersen_ 276
The Happy Prince _Oscar Wilde_ 284
The Legend of King Wenceslaus
(adapted) _John Mason Neale_ 303
Midwinter (poem) _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 310
WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET
Old Winter (poem) _Thomas Noel_ 314
The Snowball That Didn't Melt _Jay T. Stocking_ 315
Gau-wi-di-ne and Go-hay
(Iroquois legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 330
Naming the Winds (Indian
legend retold) _Ada M. Skinner_ 339
North Wind's Frolic
(translated) _Montgomery Maze_ 343
The Months: A Pageant
(adapted) _Christina Rossetti_ 346
Prince Winter _Carl Ewald_ 366
How Spring and Winter
Met (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 376
INTRODUCTION
"Once upon a time," in the winter season suggests happy, young faces
grouped about a blazing fire. A heavy snowstorm promises plenty of
sport for tomorrow, but at present the cosiness indoors is very
attractive, especially now that the evening story hour is at hand. And
while the story-teller is slowly choosing his subjects he hears the
children's impatient whispers of "The Snow Man," "Prince Winter," "The
Legend of Holly," "The Animals' Christmas Tree."
Silence! The story-teller turns his eyes from the glowing fire to the
faces of his eager audience. He is ready to begin.
Each season of the year opens a treasury of suggestion for stories. In
the beauty and wonder of nature are excellent themes for tales which
quicken children's interest in the promise of joyous springtime, in
the rich pageantry of ripening summer, in the blessings of generous
autumn, and in the merry cheer of grim old winter.
The Pearl Story Book is the fourth volume in a series of nature books
each of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic of a
particular season. The central theme of this volume is winter,
"snow-wrapped and holly-decked."
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
WINTER
Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek.
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars:
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight.
James Russell Lowell.
THE ICE KING
(Indian Legend)
Once upon a time there was an Indian village built on the bank of a
wide river. During the spring, summer, and autumn the people were very
happy. There was plenty of fuel and game in the deep woods; the river
afforded excellent fish. But the Indians dreaded the months when the
Ice King reigned.
One winter the weather was terribly cold and the people suffered
severely. The Ice King called forth the keen wind from the northern
sky, and piled the snowdrifts so high in the forests that it was most
difficult to supply the wigwams with game. He covered the river with
ice so thick that the Indians feared it would never melt.
"When will the Ice King leave us?" they asked each other. "We shall
all perish if he continues his cruel reign."
At last signs of spring encouraged the stricken people. The great
snowdrifts in the forests disappeared and the ice on the river broke
into large pieces. All of these floated downstream except one huge
cake which lodged on the bank very near the village. And when the
Indians saw that the spring sunshine did not melt this great mass of
ice they were puzzled and anxious.
"It is the roof of the Ice King's lodge," they said. "We shall never
enjoy warm weather while he dwells near us. Have we no brave who is
willing to do battle with this winter tyrant?"
At last, a courageous young hunter armed himself with a huge club and
went forth to see if he could shatter the glittering frozen mass and
rid the village of the giant who dwelt beneath it. With all his
strength he struck the ice roof blow upon blow, crying out, "Begone, O
cruel Ice King! Your time is past! Begone!"
Finally, there was a deafening noise like the crashing of forest trees
when the lightning strikes, and the huge ice cake split into several
pieces.
"Begone!" cried the young brave, as he struggled with each great lump
of ice until he pushed it from the bank and tumbled it into the river
below.
And when the mighty task was finished the white figure of the Ice King
stood before the Indian brave.
"You have ruined my lodge," said the giant.
"The winter season is past," answered the brave. "Begone!"
"After several moons I shall return to stay," threatened the Ice King.
Then he stalked away toward the North.
The people were very happy when they knew that the young brave had
conquered the giant; but their joy was somewhat dampened when they
heard about the threatened return of the Ice King.
"I shall prepare for his return and do battle with him again,"
declared the Indian conqueror.
This promise comforted the people somewhat, but still they thought of
the coming winter with dread.
During the autumn the hunter built near the river a strong wigwam and
stored therein abundant fuel and dried game. He filled many bags made
of skin, with oil, which he procured from the animals he killed. Also,
he was well supplied with fur rugs, blankets, and warm clothes.
At last the winter season came. The cold north wind blew unceasingly,
the snow piled high around the wigwams; ice several feet thick covered
the river.
"The Ice King has come," said the Indians. "If he keeps his threat to
stay among us we shall surely perish."
One bitter cold day the young Indian who had prepared well for the
severe weather sat in his wigwam near a blazing fire. Suddenly, a
strong gust of wind tore aside the bear skin which protected the
doorway and into the lodge stalked the Ice King. His freezing breath
filled the place and dampened the fire. He took a seat opposite the
Indian brave who said, "Welcome, Ice King."
"I've come to stay," answered the giant.
The Indian shivered with cold at the sudden change of temperature in
his wigwam, but he rose and brought more logs to the fire. Also, he
opened one of his bags of oil and poured the contents on the great
pieces of wood. The flames soon caught the oil-soaked logs and a
roaring fire crackled and blazed in the wigwam. More and more fuel the
young brave piled on his fire until finally the frosty cold air was
changed to summer heat.
The Ice King shifted his seat away from the glowing fire. Farther and
farther away he pushed until he sat with his back against the wall of
the wigwam. As he moved he seemed to grow smaller and weaker. The icy
feathers of his headgear drooped about his forehead and great drops of
sweat covered his face. But still the Indian brave piled fuel on the
blazing fire.
"Spare me, O hunter," cried the Ice King.
But to the words of the giant the young Indian was deaf. He opened
another bag of oil and poured it on the logs.
"Have mercy, I beg you!" pleaded the Ice King. He rose and staggered
toward the door.
"You have conquered me," he said in a weak voice. "I will depart.
Twice you have won a victory over me. I give up my hope of reigning
continually among your people. My season shall last during three
moons, only."
He staggered out of the wigwam and stalked wearily away. Since that
day the giant Ice King has not tried to reign throughout the year.
A SONG OF THE SNOW
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn,
When the air is still and the clouds are gone,
And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,
And the old clock ticks, "'Tis time! 'Tis time!"
And the household rises with many a yawn
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!
Sing, Ho!
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky
When the last star closes its icy eye
And deep in the road the snow-drifts lie,
And the old clock ticks, "'Tis late! 'Tis late!"
And the flame on the hearth leaps red--leaps high
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!
Sing, Ho!
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn
When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,
And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,
And the old clock ticks, "Tick-tock; tick-tock;"
And the goodman bustles about the barn
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!
Sing, Ho!
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day,
When ermine capped are the stocks of hay,
And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,
And the old clock ticks, "To work! To work!"
And the goodwife sings as she churns away
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!
Sing, Ho!
Madison Cawein.
KING FROST AND KING WINTER
Margaret T. Canby
King Winter lives in a very strong palace near the cold North Pole; it
is built of great blocks of thick ice, and all around it stand high,
pointed icebergs, and cross, white bears keep guard at the gate. He
has many little fairy servants to do his bidding and they are like
their master, cross and spiteful, and seldom do any kind actions, so
that few are found who love them. King Winter is rich and powerful,
but he keeps all his wealth so tightly locked up that it does no one
any good; and what is worse, he often tries to get the treasures of
other persons, to add to the store in his money chests.
One day when this selfish old king was walking through the woods he
saw the leaves thickly covered with gold and precious stones, which
had been spread upon them by King Frost, to make the trees more
beautiful and give pleasure to all who saw them. But looking at them
did not satisfy King Winter; he wanted to have the gold for his own,
and he made up his mind to get it, somehow. Back he went to his palace
to call his servants home to do this new work. As soon as he reached
the gate, he blew a loud, shrill note on his horn and in a few minutes
his odd little fairies came flying in at the windows and doors and
stood before him quietly waiting their commands. The king ordered some
to go out into the forest, at nightfall, armed with canes and clubs,
and beat off all the gold and ruby leaves; and he told others to take
strong bags, and gather up all the treasure, and bring it to him.
"If that silly King Frost does not think any more of gold and precious
stones than to waste them on trees I shall teach him better," said the
old king.
The fairies promised to obey him, and as soon as night came, off they
rushed to the forest, and a terrible noise they made, flying from one
beautiful tree to another, banging and beating the leaves off.
Branches were cracking and falling on all sides, and leaves were
flying about, while the sound of shouting and laughing and screaming
told all who heard it that the spiteful winter fairies were at some
mischief. The other fairies followed, and gathered up the poor
shattered leaves, cramming them into the great bags they had brought,
and taking them to King Winter's palace as fast as they were filled.
This work was kept up nearly all night and when morning came, the
magic forest of many-colored leaves was changed into a dreary place.
Bare trees stretched their long brown branches around and seemed to
shiver in the cold wind and to sigh for the beautiful dress of shining
leaves so rudely torn from them.
King Winter was very much pleased, as one great sack after another was
tugged in by the fairies and when morning came he called his servants
together and said, "You have all worked well, my fairies, and have
saved much treasure from being wasted; I will now open these bags and
show you the gold. Each of you shall have a share."
The king took up the sack nearest to him, their surprise, when out
rushed a great heap of brown leaves, which flew all over the floor and
half choked them with dust! When the king saw this he growled with
rage and looked at the fairies with a dark frown on his face. They
begged him to look at the next sack, but when he did so, it, too, was
full of brown leaves, instead of gold and precious stones. This was
too much for King Winter's patience. He tossed the bags one by one out
of the palace window, and would have tossed the unlucky fairies after
them, had not some of the bravest ones knelt down and asked for mercy,
telling him they had obeyed his orders, and, if King Frost had taken
back his treasure, they were not to blame.
This turned their master's anger against King Frost, and very angry
and fierce he was. He gnashed his great teeth with rage and rushed up
and down in his palace, until it shook again. At last he made up his
mind to go out that night, break down King Frost's beautiful palace,
and take away all his riches.
When night came, he started out with all his fairies. Some were armed
with the clubs they had beaten off the leaves with, and others had
lumps of ice to throw at their enemy; but the king had been so angry
all day that he had not told them what to do; also, he had left their
sharp spears locked up. He wrapped himself in his great white cloak of
swan's down in order that he might look very grand, and so they went
on their way.
King Frost lived on the other side of the wood, and he had heard all
the noise made by the winter fairies in spoiling the trees and had
seen the next morning the mischief they had done. It made him very
sorry to find the beautiful leaves all knocked off and taken away, and
he determined to punish King Winter by going to attack _his_ palace
that night. He spent the day making ready and dressing himself and his
servants in shining coats of ice-armour and giving each one several
spears and darts of ice tipped with sharp diamond points. They looked
like brave little soldiers.
The two groups of fairies met in the midst of the great wood. After
some words between the kings, their servants fell to blows and a
great battle they had. The winter fairies fought with their clubs and
threw lumps of ice at the frost fairies; but their clubs were weak
from being used so roughly the night before and soon broke; and when
their ice-balls were all thrown away they could find no more. But King
Frost had armed his servants well, and they threw their icy darts
among the winter fairies. The trees, too, seemed to fight on the Frost
King's side. The bare twigs pulled their hair and the branches ripped
their ice clothes wherever they could. So the winter fairies had the
worst of it and at last started off at full speed and rushed through
the woods, never stopping till they reached the palace, and shut
themselves in--leaving their king, who was too proud to run, all alone
with King Frost and his fairies. You may be sure they were not very
merciful to him. They began to pull his cloak, calling out, "Give us
your cloak to keep our trees warm. You stole their pretty leaves; you
must give us your cloak."
Now this was a magic cloak and had been given to King Winter by the
Queen of the fairies, so when he felt them pulling at it, he wrapped
it tightly about him, and began to run. After him flew the frost
fairies, pulling and plucking at his great white cloak, snatching out
a bit here and a bit there and laughing and shouting while King Winter
howled and roared and rushed along, not knowing where he went. On they
flew up and down the wood in and out among the trees,--their way
marked by the scattered bits of white down from King Winter's cloak.
When day began King Winter found himself near his own palace. He
dashed his tattered cloak to the ground and rushed through the gate,
shaking his fist at King Frost.
He and his fairies took the cloak. As they went home through the woods
they hung beautiful wreaths of white down on all the trees and also
trimmed the branches with their broken spears and darts, which shone
like silver in the sunlight, and made the woods look as bright almost,
as before it had been robbed of its golden and ruby leaves. Even the
ground was covered with shining darts and white feathers. Every one
thought it very beautiful, and no one could tell how it happened.
(_Adapted._)
THE SNOWSTORM
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, and river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end,
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come, see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Mauger the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone--
Built in an age, the mad wind's night work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
THE FIRST WINTER
(Iroquois Legend)
There was a time when the days were always of the same length, and it
was always summer. The red men lived continually in the smile of the
Great Spirit and were happy. But there arose a chief who was so
powerful that he at last declared himself mightier than the Great
Spirit, and taught his brothers to go forth to the plain and mock him.
They would call upon the Great Spirit to come and fight with them or
would challenge him to take away the crop of growing corn or drive the
game from the woods. They would say he was an unkind father to keep
himself and their dead brothers in the Happy Hunting Grounds, where
the red men could hunt forever without weariness.
They laughed at their old men who had feared for so many moons to
reproach the Great Spirit for his unfair treatment of the Indians who
were compelled to hunt and fish for game for their wives and children,
while their own women had to plant the corn and harvest it.
"In the Happy Hunting Grounds," they said, "the Great Spirit feeds our
brothers and their wives and does not let any foes or dangers come
upon them, but here he lets us go hungry many times. If he is as great
as you have said, why does he not take care of his children here?"
Then the Great Spirit told them he would turn his smiling face away
from them, so that they should have no more light and warmth and they
must build fires in the forest if they would see.
But the red men laughed and taunted him, telling him that he had
followed one trail so long that he could not get out of it, but would
have to come every day and give them light and heat as usual. Then
they would dance and make faces at him and taunt him with his
helplessness.
In a few days the quick eyes of some of the red men saw in the morning
the face of the Great Spirit appear where it was not wont to appear,
but they were silent, fearing the jibes of their brothers. Finally,
duller eyes noticed the change, and alarm and consternation spread
among the people. Each day brought less and less of the Great Spirit's
smile and his countenance was often hidden by dark clouds, while
terrible storms beat upon the frightened faces turned in appeal toward
the heavens. The strong braves and warriors became as women; the old
men covered their heads with skins and starved in the forests; while
the women in their lodges crooned the low, mournful wail of the death
song. Frosts and snows came upon an unsheltered and stricken race, and
many of them perished.
Then the Great Spirit, who had almost removed his face from the sight
of men, had pity and told them he would come back. Day after day the
few that remained alive watched with joy the return of the sun. They
sang in praise of the approaching summer and once more hailed with
thankfulness the first blades of growing corn as it burst from the
ground. The Great Spirit told his children that every year, as a
punishment for the insults they had given their Father, they should
feel for a season the might of the power they had mocked; and they
murmured not, but bowed their heads in meekness.
SNOW SONG
Over valley, over hill,
Hark, the shepherd piping shrill,
Driving all the white flock forth,
From the far folds of the north.
Blow, wind, blow,
Weird melodies you play,
Following your flocks that go
Across the world today.
Hither, thither, up and down,
Every highway of the town,
Huddling close the white flocks all
Gather at the shepherd's call.
Blow, wind, blow,
Upon your pipes of joy,
All your sheep the flakes of snow
And you their shepherd boy.
Frank Dempster Sherman.
THE SNOW MAIDEN
(Russian Legend)
Once upon a time there lived a peasant named Ivan and his wife, Marie.
They were very sad because they had no children. One cold winter day
the peasant and his wife sat near a window in their cottage and
watched the village children playing in the snow. The little ones were
busily at work making a beautiful snow maiden.
Ivan turned to his wife and said, "What a good time the children are
having. See, they are making a beautiful snow maiden. Come, let us go
into the garden and amuse ourselves in the same way. We will make a
pretty little snow image."
They went into the garden which lay back of their cottage.
"My husband," said Marie, "we have no children, what do you say to
our making for ourselves a child of snow?"
"A very good idea!" said the husband. And he at once began to mold the
form of a little body, with tiny feet and hands. His wife made a small
head and set it upon the shoulders of the snow image.
A man who passed by the garden stopped for a moment and looked at the
peasants who were so strangely occupied. After a moment's silence he
said to them, "May God help you."
"Thank you," said Ivan.
"God's blessing, indeed, is always good," nodded Marie.
"What are you making?" asked the stranger.
Ivan looked up and said, "We are making a little snow maiden." Then he
went on with his work, forming the nose, chin, and eyes.
In a few moments the snow child was finished, and Ivan looked at her
in great admiration. Suddenly, he noticed that the mouth and eyes
opened, the cheeks and lips took on a rosy hue, and in a few moments
the astonished peasant saw standing before him a living child.
"Who are you?" he asked, filled with wonder at seeing a little girl
instead of a snow image.
"I am Snow White, your little daughter," said the child. Then she
threw her arms lovingly around the man and his wife, who both began to
cry for joy.
The delighted parents took Snow White into the cottage, and before
long the news ran through the village that a little daughter had come
to live with Ivan and Marie.
Of course the village children came to play with Snow White. She was
such a charming little girl, with a very white skin, eyes as blue as
the sky, and lovely golden hair. To be sure, her cheeks were not so
rosy as those of her companions, but she was so bright and gentle that
everyone loved her very much indeed.
The winter passed very quickly and Snow White grew so fast that by the
time the trees were veiled in the green buds of spring she was as tall
as a girl of twelve or thirteen years.
During the winter months the snow maiden had been very joyous and
happy, but when the mild, warm days of spring came she seemed sad and
low-spirited. Her mother, Marie, noticed the change and said to her,
"My dear little girl, why are you sad? Tell me, are you ill?"
"No, mother, dear, I am not ill," said Snow White. But she no longer
seemed to enjoy playing out of doors with the other children; she
stayed very quietly in the cottage.
One lovely spring day the village children came to the cottage and
called out, "Come, Snow White! Come! We are going into the woods to
gather wild flowers. Come with us."
"Yes, do go, my dear!" said mother Marie. "Go with your little friends
and gather spring flowers. I'm sure you'll enjoy the outing."
Away went the happy children to the woods. They gathered the lovely
wild flowers and made them into bouquets and coronets, and when the
afternoon sun began to sink in the western sky they built a big
bonfire. Gayly they sang little songs, merrily dancing around the
bright, crackling blaze.
"Let each one dance alone," called out one of the little girls.
"Snow White, watch us for a little while, and then you, too, will
know how to dance alone."
Away whirled the happy little children, dancing freely round and round
the bonfire. In a little while Snow White joined them.
When the gay little people were out of breath and the dancing grew
slower and slower, some one called out, "Where is Snow White?"
"Snow White, where are you?" shouted the other children, but nowhere
could they find their little companion.
They ran home and told Ivan and Marie that Snow White had disappeared
while dancing round the bonfire. The villagers made a thorough search
for the little maiden, but they never found her, for while she was
dancing around the bonfire she had slowly changed into a little white
vapour and had flown away toward the sky, where she changed into a
delicate snowflake.
THE FROST KING
Oho! have you seen the Frost King,
A-marching up the hill?
His hoary face is stern and pale,
His touch is icy chill.
He sends the birdlings to the South,
He bids the brooks be still;
Yet not in wrath or cruelty
He marches up the hill.
He will often rest at noontime,
To see the sunbeams play;
And flash his spears of icicles,
Or let them melt away.
He'll toss the snowflakes in the air,
Nor let them go nor stay;
Then hold his breath while swift they fall,
That coasting boys may play.
He'll touch the brooks and rivers wide,
That skating crowds may shout;
He'll make the people far and near
Remember he's about.
He'll send his nimble, frosty Jack--
Without a shade of doubt--
To do all kinds of merry pranks,
And call the children out;
He'll sit upon the whitened fields,
And reach his icy hand
O'er houses where the sudden cold
Folks cannot understand.
The very moon, that ventures forth
From clouds so soft and grand,
Will stare to see the stiffened look
That settles o'er the land.
And so the Frost King o'er the hills,
And o'er the startled plain,
Will come and go from year to year
Till Earth grows young again--
Till Time himself shall cease to be,
Till gone are hill and plain:
Whenever Winter comes to stay,
The hoary King shall reign.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
KING WINTER'S HARVEST
King Winter sat upon his iceberg throne, and waving his scepter, a
huge icicle, called for all the Snow Fairies and Frost Fairies to draw
near, as he wished to see them.
"Tell me, Snow Fairies," said King Winter, "what have you been doing
of late; have you made anybody happy by your work?"
"Oh, yes," they all said at once, "we had the jolliest time last night
putting white dresses on the trees, white spreads over the grasses,
white caps on all the fence posts, and making things look so strange
that when the children came out in the morning they just shouted and
laughed, and soon threw so much snow over each other that they were
dressed in white, too, and seemed Snow Fairies like ourselves. They,
too, wanted to make curious canes, castles, and other things with the
snow as we had done. Sleds were brought out and when the sleighbells
commenced their music it seemed that everybody was made glad by our
work."
"Well done," said King Winter, "now away to your work again."
In a twinkling the Snow Fairies were up in a purple cloud-boat
throwing a shower of snowflake kisses down to King Winter to thank him
for giving them work to do.
"Now, Frost Fairies," said King Winter, turning to a glittering band
who wore some of his own jewels, "what have you done to make anybody
glad?"
"We have made pictures upon the windows and hung your jewels upon the
trees for the people to look at, and covered the skating ponds," said
Jack Frost, the leader.
"That is good," said King Winter. "You and the Snow Fairies seem to be
making the world glad now, but pretty soon we must leave the work, and
the good sunbeams will put our things away; they will hide the
snowballs, and crack the skating ponds so that the ice may float
downstream. Now I would like to make something that will keep long
after we are gone away. Queen Summer is gone but her harvest of hay
and grain is in the barns. Queen Autumn is gone but her harvest of
apples and potatoes is in the cellars; now I want to leave a harvest,
too."
"But the sunbeams are away most of the time now," said Jack Frost.
"Can anything grow without them?"
"My harvest will grow best without them," said King Winter, "and I'll
just hang up a thick cloud curtain and ask them to play upon the other
side while my harvest grows. Mr. North Wind will help, and if all you
Frost Fairies do your liveliest work my harvest will soon be ready."
North Wind soon came with bags of cold air which he scattered hither
and thither, while the Frost Fairies carried it into every track and
corner, wondering all the while what the harvest would be. But after
two days' work they found out; for horses were hitched to sleds and
men started for the lakes and rivers, saying, "The ice has frozen so
thick that it is a fine time to fill the ice-houses." Saws and poles
were carried along, and soon huge blocks of ice were finding places
upon the sleds ready for a ride to some ice-house where they would be
packed so securely in sawdust that King Winter's harvest would keep
through the very hottest weather.
"Then the ice-men can play that they are we," said a Frost Fairy,
"scattering cold all about to make people glad."
OLD KING WINTER
Old King Winter's on his throne
In robes of ermine white;
The crown of jewels on his head
Now glitters bright with light.
The little flakes of snow and hail,
And tiny pearls of sleet,
Are with the wild winds dancing
All round his magic feet.
His beard is white, his cheeks are red,
His heart is filled with cheer;
His season's best some people say;
The _best_ of all the year.
Anna E. Skinner.
SHELTERING WINGS
Harriet Louise Jerome
It was intensely cold. Heavy sleds creaked as they scraped over the
jeweled sounding board of dry, unyielding snow; the signs above shop
doors shrieked and groaned as they swung helplessly to and fro; and
the clear, keen air seemed frozen into sharp little crystalline
needles that stabbed every living thing that must be out in it. The
streets were almost forsaken in mid-afternoon. Business men hurried
from shelter to shelter; every dog remained at home; not a bird was to
be seen or heard. The sparrows had been forced to hide themselves in
crevices and holes; the doves found protected corners and huddled
together as best they could; many birds were frozen to death.
A dozen or more doves were gathered close under the cornice of the
piazza of a certain house, trying with little success to keep warm.
Some small sparrows, disturbed and driven from the cozy place they had
chosen, saw the doves and came flying across the piazza.
"Dear doves," chirped the sparrows, "won't you let us nestle near you?
Your bodies look so large and warm."
"But your coats are frosted with cold. We cannot let you come near us,
for we are almost frozen now," murmured the doves sadly.
"But we are perishing."
"So are we."
"It looks so warm near your broad wings, gentle doves. Oh, let us
come! We are so little, and so very, very cold!"
"Come," cooed a dove at last, and a trembling little sparrow fluttered
close and nestled under the broad white wing.
"Come," cooed another dove, and another little sparrow found comfort.
"Come! Come!" echoed another warm-hearted bird, and another, until at
last more than half the doves were sheltering small, shivering
sparrows beneath their own half-frozen wings.
"My sisters, you are very foolish," said the other doves. "You mean
well, but why do you risk your own beautiful lives to give life to
worthless sparrows?"
"Ah! they were so small, and so very, very cold," murmured the doves.
"Many of us will perish this cruel night; while we have life let us
share its meager warmth with those in bitter need."
Colder and colder grew the day. The sun went down behind the clouds
suffused with soft and radiant beauty, but more fiercely and
relentlessly swept the wind around the house where the doves and
sparrows waited for death.
An hour after sunset a man came up to the house and strode across the
piazza. As the door of the house closed heavily behind him, a little
child watching from the window saw something jarred from the cornice
fall heavily to the piazza floor.
"Oh, papa," she cried in surprise, "a poor frozen dove has fallen on
our porch!"
When he stepped out to pick up the fallen dove the father saw the
others under the cornice. They were no longer able to move or to
utter a cry, so he brought them in and placed them in a room where
they might slowly revive. Soon more than half of the doves could coo
gratefully, and raise their stiffened wings. Then out from beneath the
wing of each revived dove fluttered a living sparrow.
"Look, papa!" cried the child. "Each dove that has come to life was
holding a poor little sparrow close to her heart."
They gently raised the wings of the doves that could not be revived.
Not one had a sparrow beneath it.
Colder and fiercer swept the wind without, cutting and more piercing
grew the frozen, crystalline needles of air, but each dove that had
sheltered a frost-coated sparrow beneath her own shivering wings lived
to rejoice in the glowing gladsome sunshine of the days to come.
SNOWFLAKES
Out of the Bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow,
Descends the snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
THE SNOW-IMAGE
Nathaniel Hawthorne
One afternoon of a cold winter's day, when the sun shone forth with
chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of
their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow.
The elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender
and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her
parents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call
Violet.
But her brother was known by the title of Peony, on account of the
ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody
think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers.
"Yes, Violet--yes, my little Peony," said their kind mother; "you may
go out and play in the new snow."
Forth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump, that
carried them at once into the very heart of a huge snow-drift, whence
Violet emerged like a snow bunting, while little Peony floundered out
with his round face in full bloom.
Then what a merry time they had! To look at them, frolicking in the
wintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless storm
had been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for
Violet and Peony; and that they themselves had been created, as the
snowbirds were, to take delight only in the tempest and in the white
mantle which it spread over the earth.
At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of
snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was
struck with a new idea.
"You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony," said she, "if your cheeks
were not so red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make an image out of
snow--an image of a little girl--and it shall be our sister, and shall
run about and play with us all winter long. Won't it be nice?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was but
a little boy. "That will be nice! And mamma shall see it."
"Yes," answered Violet; "mamma shall see the new little girl. But she
must not make her come into the warm parlour, for, you know, our
little snow-sister will not love the warmth."
And forthwith the children began this great business of making a
snow-image that should run about; while their mother, who was knitting
at the window and overheard some of their talk, could not help smiling
at the gravity with which they set about it. They really seemed to
imagine that there would be no difficulty whatever in creating a live
little girl out of the snow.
Indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight--those bright little
souls at their task! Moreover, it was really wonderful to observe how
knowingly and skillfully they managed the matter. Violet assumed the
chief direction, and told Peony what to do, while, with her own
delicate fingers, she shaped out all the nicer parts of the
snow-figure.
It seemed, in fact, not so much to be made by the children, as to
grow up under their hands, while they were playing and prattling about
it. Their mother was quite surprised at this, and the longer she
looked, the more and more surprised she grew.
Now, for a few moments, there was a busy and earnest but indistinct
hum of the two children's voices, as Violet and Peony wrought together
with one happy consent. Violet still seemed to be the guiding spirit,
while Peony acted rather as a labourer and brought her the snow from
far and near. And yet the little urchin evidently had a proper
understanding of the matter, too.
"Peony, Peony!" cried Violet; for her brother was at the other side of
the garden. "Bring me those light wreaths of snow that have rested on
the lower branches of the pear-tree. You can clamber on the
snow-drift, Peony, and reach them easily. I must have them to make
some ringlets for our snow-sister's head!"
"Here they are, Violet!" answered the little boy. "Take care you do
not break them. Well done! Well done! How pretty!"
"Does she not look sweet?" said Violet, with a very satisfied tone;
"and now we must have some little shining bits of ice to make the
brightness of her eyes. She is not finished yet. Mamma will see how
very beautiful she is; but papa will say, 'Tush! nonsense! come in out
of the cold!'"
"Let us call mamma to look out," said Peony; and then he shouted,
"Mamma! mamma!! mamma!!! Look out and see what a nice 'ittle girl we
are making!"
"What a nice playmate she will be for us all winter long!" said
Violet. "I hope papa will not be afraid of her giving us a cold!
Sha'n't you love her dearly, Peony?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Peony. "And I will hug her and she shall sit down
close by me and drink some of my warm milk."
"Oh, no, Peony!" answered Violet, with grave wisdom. "That will not do
at all. Warm milk will not be wholesome for our little snow-sister.
Little snow-people like her eat nothing but icicles. No, no, Peony; we
must not give her anything warm to drink!"
There was a minute or two of silence; for Peony, whose short legs
were never weary, had gone again to the other side of the garden. All
of a sudden, Violet cried out, loudly and joyfully, "Look here, Peony!
Come quickly! A light has been shining on her cheek out of that
rose-coloured cloud! And the colour does not go away! Is not that
beautiful?"
"Yes, it is beau-ti-ful," answered Peony, pronouncing the three
syllables with deliberate accuracy. "O Violet, only look at her hair!
It is all like gold!"
"Oh, certainly," said Violet, as if it were very much a matter of
course. "That colour, you know, comes from the golden clouds that we
see up there in the sky. She is almost finished now. But her lips must
be made very red, redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, it will make
them red if we both kiss them!"
Accordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as if both her
children were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. But, as this
did not seem to make the lips quite red enough, Violet next proposed
that the snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony's scarlet cheek.
"Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!" cried Peony.
"There! she has kissed you," added Violet, "and now her lips are very
red. And she blushed a little, too!"
"Oh, what a cold kiss!" cried Peony.
Just then, there came a breeze of the pure west wind sweeping through
the garden and rattling the parlour-windows. It sounded so wintry
cold, that the mother was about to tap on the window-pane with her
thimbled finger, to summon the two children in, when they both cried
out to her with one voice:
"Mamma! mamma! We have finished our little snow-sister, and she is
running about the garden with us!"
"What imaginative little beings my children are!" thought the mother,
putting the last few stitches into Peony's frock. "And it is strange,
too, that they make me almost as much a child as they themselves are!
I can hardly help believing now that the snow-image has really come to
life!"
"Dear mamma!" cried Violet, "pray look out and see what a sweet
playmate we have!"
The mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay to look forth
from the window. The sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving,
however, a rich inheritance of his brightness among those purple and
golden clouds which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent.
But there was not the slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window
or on the snow; so that the good lady could look all over the garden,
and see everything and everybody in it. And what do you think she saw
there? Violet and Peony, of course, her own two darling children.
Ah, but whom or what did she see besides? Why, if you will believe me,
there was a small figure of a girl, dressed all in white, with
rose-tinged cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about the
garden with the two children!
A stranger though she was, the child seemed to be on as familiar terms
with Violet and Peony, and they with her, as if all the three had been
playmates during the whole of their little lives. The mother thought
to herself that it must certainly be the daughter of one of the
neighbours, and that, seeing Violet and Peony in the garden, the child
had run across the street to play with them.
So this kind lady went to the door, intending to invite the little
runaway into her comfortable parlour; for, now that the sunshine was
withdrawn, the atmosphere out of doors was already growing very cold.
But, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on the
threshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in,
or whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, she almost doubted
whether it were a real child, after all, or only a light wreath of the
new-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by the
intensely cold west wind.
There was certainly something very singular in the aspect of the
little stranger. Among all the children of the neighbourhood the lady
could remember no such face, with its pure white and delicate
rose-colour, and the golden ringlets tossing about the forehead and
cheeks.
And as for her dress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in
the breeze, it was such as no reasonable woman would put upon a little
girl when sending her out to play in the depth of winter. It made this
kind and careful mother shiver only to look at those small feet, with
nothing in the world on them except a very thin pair of white
slippers.
Nevertheless, airily as she was clad, the child seemed to feel not the
slightest inconvenience from the cold, but danced so lightly over the
snow that the tips of her toes left hardly a print in its surface;
while Violet could but just keep pace with her, and Peony's short legs
compelled him to lag behind.
All this while, the mother stood on the threshold, wondering how a
little girl could look so much like a flying snow-drift, or how a
snow-drift could look so very like a little girl.
She called Violet and whispered to her.
"Violet, my darling, what is this child's name?" asked she. "Does she
live near us?"
"Why, dearest mamma," answered Violet, laughing to think that her
mother did not comprehend so very plain an affair, "this is our
little snow-sister whom we have just been making!"
"Yes, dear mamma," cried Peony, running to his mother, and looking up
simply into her face. "This is our snow-image! Is it not a nice 'ittle
child?"
"Violet," said her mother, greatly perplexed, "tell me the truth,
without any jest. Who is this little girl?"
"My darling mamma," answered Violet, looking seriously into her
mother's face, surprised that she should need any further explanation,
"I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image which
Peony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I."
"Yes, mamma," declared Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little
phiz, "this is 'ittle snow-child. Is not she a nice one? But, mamma,
her hand is, oh, so very cold!"
While mamma still hesitated what to think and what to do, the
street-gate was thrown open, and the father of Violet and Peony
appeared, wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a fur cap drawn down
over his ears, and the thickest of gloves upon his hands.
Mr. Lindsey was a middle-aged man, with a weary and yet a happy look
in his wind-flushed and frost-pinched face, as if he had been busy all
day long, and was glad to get back to his quiet home. His eyes
brightened at the sight of his wife and children, although he could
not help uttering a word or two of surprise at finding the whole
family in the open air, on so bleak a day, and after sunset, too.
He soon perceived the little white stranger, sporting to and fro in
the garden, like a dancing snow-wreath and the flock of snowbirds
fluttering about her head.
"Pray, what little girl may this be?" inquired this very sensible man.
"Surely her mother must be crazy, to let her go out in such bitter
weather as it has been today, with only that flimsy white gown and
those thin slippers!"
"My dear husband," said his wife, "I know no more about the little
thing than you do. Some neighbour's child, I suppose. Our Violet and
Peony," she added, laughing at herself for repeating so absurd a
story, "insist that she is nothing but a snow-image which they have
been busy about in the garden, almost all the afternoon."
As she said this, the mother glanced her eyes toward the spot where
the children's snow-image had been made. What was her surprise on
perceiving that there was not the slightest trace of so much
labour!--no image at all!--no piled-up heap of snow!--nothing
whatever, save the prints of little footsteps around a vacant space!
"This is very strange!" said she.
"What is strange, dear mother?" asked Violet. "Dear father, do not you
see how it is? This is our snow-image, which Peony and I have made,
because we wanted another playmate. Did not we, Peony?"
"Yes, papa," said crimson Peony. "This is our 'ittle snow-sister. Is
she not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me such a cold kiss!"
"Pooh, nonsense, children!" cried their good honest father, who had a
plain, sensible way of looking at matters. "Do not tell me of making
live figures out of snow. Come, wife; this little stranger must not
stay out in the bleak air a moment longer. We will bring her into the
parlour; and you shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and
make her as comfortable as you can."
So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was going toward the
little damsel, with the best intentions in the world. But Violet and
Peony, each seizing their father by the hand, earnestly besought him
not to make her come in.
"Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!" cried the father,
half-vexed, half-laughing. "Run into the house, this moment! It is too
late to play any longer now. I must take care of this little girl
immediately, or she will catch her death of cold."
And so, with a most benevolent smile, this very well-meaning gentleman
took the snow-child by the hand and led her toward the house.
She followed him, droopingly and reluctant, for all the glow and
sparkle were gone out of her figure; and, whereas just before she had
resembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimson gleam
on the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as a thaw.
As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of the door, Violet and Peony
looked into his face, their eyes full of tears which froze before they
could run down their cheeks, and again entreated him not to bring
their snow-image into the house.
"Not bring her in!" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. "Why, you are
crazy, my little Violet!--quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold
already that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick
gloves. Would you have her freeze to death?"
His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long,
earnest gaze at the little white stranger. She hardly knew whether it
was a dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the
delicate print of Violet's fingers on the child's neck. It looked just
as if, while Violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a
gentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression
quite away.
"After all, husband," said the mother, "after all, she does look
strangely like a snow-image! I do believe she is made of snow!"
A puff of the west wind blew against the snow-child, and again she
sparkled like a star.
"Snow!" repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over
his hospitable threshold. "No wonder she looks like snow. She is half
frozen, poor little thing! But a good fire will put everything to
rights."
This common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the hearth-rug,
right in front of the hissing and fuming stove.
"Now she will be comfortable!" cried Mr. Lindsey, rubbing his hands
and looking about him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. "Make
yourself at home, my child."
Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden as she stood on
the hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her
like a pestilence. Once she threw a glance toward the window, and
caught a glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs
and the stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of
the cold night. The bleak wind rattled the window-panes as if it were
summoning her to come forth. But there stood the snow-child, drooping,
before the hot stove!
But the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss.
"Come, wife," said he, "let her have a pair of thick stockings and a
woolen shawl or blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her some warm
supper as soon as the milk boils. You, Violet and Peony, amuse your
little friend. She is out of spirits, you see, at finding herself in a
strange place. For my part, I will go around among the neighbours and
find out where she belongs."
The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings.
Without heeding the remonstrance of his two children, who still kept
murmuring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, good
Mr. Lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlour door carefully
behind him.
Turning up the collar of his sack over his ears, he emerged from the
house, and had barely reached the street-gate, when he was recalled by
the screams of Violet and Peony and the rapping of a thimbled finger
against the parlour window.
"Husband! husband!" cried his wife, showing her horror-stricken face
through the window panes. "There is no need of going for the child's
parents!"
"We told you so, father!" screamed Violet and Peony, as he re-entered
the parlour. "You would bring her in; and now our poor--dear--beau-ti-ful
little snow-sister is thawed!"
And their own sweet little faces were already dissolved in tears; so
that their father, seeing what strange things occasionally happen in
this every-day world, felt not a little anxious lest his children
might be going to thaw too. In the utmost perplexity, he demanded an
explanation of his wife. She could only reply that, being summoned to
the parlour by cries of Violet and Peony, she found no trace of the
little white maiden, unless it were the remains of a heap of snow,
which, while she was gazing at it, melted quite away upon the
hearth-rug.
"And there you see all that is left of it!" added she, pointing to a
pool of water, in front of the stove.
"Yes, father," said Violet, looking reproachfully at him through her
tears, "there is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!"
"Naughty father!" cried Peony, stamping his foot, and--I shudder to
say--shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man. "We told you
how it would be! What for did you bring her in?"
And the stove, through the isinglass of its door, seemed to glare at
good Mr. Lindsey, like a red-eyed demon, triumphing in the mischief
which it had done! (_Abridged._)
WINTER WOODS
THE FIRST SNOW-FALL
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
James Russell Lowell.
THE VOICE OF THE PINE TREES
(Japanese Legend)
"And all the while
The voice of the breeze
As it blows through the firs
That grow old together
Will yield us delight."
In ancient days there lived a fisherman and his wife, and little
daughter Matsue. There was nothing that Matsue loved to do more than
to sit under the great pine tree. She was particularly fond of the
pine needles that never seemed tired of falling to the ground. With
these she fashioned a beautiful dress and sash, saying, "I will not
wear these pine clothes until my wedding day."
One day while Matsue was sitting under the pine tree, she sang the
following song:
"No one so callous but he heaves a sigh
When o'er his head the withered cherry flowers
Come fluttering down. Who knows?--the spring's soft showers
May be but tears shed by the sorrowing sky."
While thus she sang Teogo stood on the steep shore of Sumiyoshi
watching the flight of a heron. Up, up, it went into the blue sky, and
Teogo saw it fly over the village where the fishfolk and their
daughter lived.
Now Teogo was a youth who dearly loved adventure and he thought it
would be very delightful to swim across the sea and discover the land
over which the heron had flown. So one morning he dived into the sea
and swam so hard and so long that the poor fellow found the waves
spinning and dancing and saw the great sky bend down and try to touch
him. Then he lay unconscious on the water; but the waves were kind to
him after all, for they pressed him on and on till he was washed up at
the very place where Matsue sat under the pine tree.
Matsue carefully dragged Teogo underneath its sheltering branches,
and then set him down upon a couch of pine needles, where he soon
regained consciousness and warmly thanked Matsue for her kindness.
Teogo did not go back to his own country, for, after a few happy
months had gone by, he married Matsue and on her wedding morn she wore
her dress and sash of pine needles.
When Matsue's parents died her loss only seemed to make her love for
Teogo the more. The older they grew the more they loved each other.
Every night when the moon shone, they went hand in hand to the pine
tree and with their little rake they made a couch for the morrow.
One night the great silver face of the moon peered through the
branches of the pine tree and looked in vain for the two sitting
together on a couch of pine needles. Their little rakes lay side by
side and still the moon waited for the slow steps of these pine tree
lovers. But that night they did not come. They had gone home to an
everlasting place on the River of Souls.
They had loved so well and so splendidly, in old age as well as in
youth, that their souls were allowed to come back again and wander
round the pine tree that had listened to their love for so many years.
When the moon is full they whisper and laugh and sing and draw the
pine needles together, while the sea sings softly upon the shore:
"The dawn is near
And the hoar-frost falls
On the fir tree twigs;
But its leaves dark green
Suffer no change.
Morning and evening
Beneath its shade
The leaves are swept away,
Yet they never fail.
True it is
That these fir trees
Shed not all their leaves;
Their verdure remains fresh
For ages long,
As the Masaka's trailing vine;
Even amongst evergreen trees--
The emblem of unchangeableness--
Exalted is their fame
As a symbol to the end of time.
The fame of the fir trees that
Have grown old together."
THE PINE TREE MAIDEN
(Indian Legend)
In an Indian village which stood near the Big Sea Water lived a
beautiful little girl whose name was Leelinau. Her chief delight was
to wander among the pine trees of a sacred grove which bordered the
great waters. Here she passed many hours watching the sunlight dance
on the stems of the tall trees and listening to the soft music of the
wind as it came up from the sea and played in the forest.
The child's desire to spend so much of her time alone in the grove
made her little companions regard her with awe, and they sometimes
whispered together about the meaning of her strange journeys to the
deep woods.
"Leelinau goes to the forest to play with the Puckwudjinies. She
dances with the fairy folk and talks to them in their own language,"
said the Indian children when they saw the little girl's figure
hurrying toward the grove of pine trees.
Leelinau's parents took little notice of her strange attraction for
the lonely forest. They thought it was a childish fancy which would
vanish in a few years. But the little girl grew into a beautiful
slender maiden and still she visited her retreat with increasing
delight.
"When Leelinau goes to the forest the air is filled with the sweetest
perfume and the trees nod their feathery plumes in welcome to her,"
whispered the youths and maidens of the village. "Some say she calls
the pine trees by name and they answer her in a strange language which
she understands."
One day it happened that an Indian hunter, who was a mighty chief,
passed through the sacred grove. There, leaning against her favourite
tree, a stately pine, he saw Leelinau, a dark-haired maiden
marvellously beautiful. In a few days the chief sought her parents and
laid before them rich gifts, saying that he wished to make the forest
maiden his bride.
To the surprise of all the people in the village Leelinau took no joy
in her approaching marriage to the great chief. To be sure, she made
no complaint, for she was an obedient daughter. But each day, when she
returned from her accustomed journey to the forest, she was sad and
thoughtful. Sometimes she stood before her father's tepee and looked
with wistful eyes toward her beloved grove.
At last the day arrived on which the great chief would claim her for
his bride. The forest maiden dressed herself in her beautiful wedding
robe and took her usual walk into the forest. Her parents were not
surprised that she should wish to take a farewell look at the grove
where she had spent so many happy hours, and which she was about to
leave, for the great chief lived many miles away.
When she reached the forest she hastened to her beautiful pine tree.
Clinging to the trunk she wept bitterly and whispered the story of her
coming marriage to a war chief from whom her heart shrank in fear.
When she had finished there was a soft rustling in the branches
overhead and a voice said: "Leelinau! Leelinau! thou art my beloved!
Wilt thou stay in the forest and be my bride?"
And she answered, "I will never leave my pine tree lover."
The sun stood high above the sacred grove and Leelinau had not
returned to her father's lodge. Friends were sent to bring her to the
village but they came back with the report that the maiden was not in
the forest. The great chief and his warriors searched far and wide for
the lost maiden. She had disappeared so completely that the
keenest-eyed Indians could discover no trace of her. The chief
departed without his bride and for a year no tidings of Leelinau came
to the village.
It happened one calm evening when the sun was sinking into the Big Sea
Water, that an Indian youth in a birch bark canoe was swiftly skimming
along toward the shore bordered by the sacred grove. There, standing
near the deep forest, was a familiar figure. It was Leelinau, the lost
maiden. In his surprise and joy the youth shouted to her and she
waved her hand to him in recognition. Then he noticed that she was
not alone. By her side stood a handsome brave with a green plume
standing high on his head. With all his might the young Indian
quickened the speed of his canoe and in a few moments he sprang
ashore. But where were Leelinau and the young brave! They had
disappeared and not a trace of them was to be found on the lonely
shore or in the forest.
The youth returned to the village and told his story. Reverently the
people bowed their heads and whispered, "Leelinau will never come back
to us. She is the bride of her favourite pine tree."
THE HOLLY
Janet Harvey Kelman
The Holly is our most important evergreen, and is so well known that
it scarcely needs any description. It has flourished in this country
as long as the Oak, and is often found growing under tall trees in the
crowded forests, as well as in the open glades, where lawns of fine
grass are to be found.
People say that the Holly, or Holm tree, as it is often called, is the
greenwood tree spoken of by Shakespeare, and that under its bushy
shelter Robin Hood and his merry men held their meetings in the open
glades of Sherwood Forest. Sometimes it is called the Holly tree,
because from the oldest time of which we have any record its boughs
have been used to deck our shrines and churches, and in some parts of
England the country people in December speak of gathering Christmas,
which is the name they give to the Holly, or Holy tree. It is this
evergreen which we oftenest use at Christmas-tide to decorate our
churches, and very lovely the dark green sprays, with their coral
berries, look when twined round the grey stone pillars.
The Holly is looked upon as a second-rate forest tree. It is never
very large, and it usually appears as a thick, tall bush, with many
branches reaching almost to the ground. Sometimes you find it with a
slender, bare trunk, clothed with pale grey bark, and if you look
closely at this bark you will see that it is covered with curious
black markings, as if some strange writing had been traced on it with
a heavy black pen.
This writing is the work of a tiny plant which makes its home on the
Holly stem and spreads in this strange way.
The bark of the young Holly shoots and boughs is pale green and quite
smooth.
The tree requires little sunshine, and it seems to keep all it gets as
every leaf is highly polished and reflects the light like a mirror.
These leaves grow closely on every branch; they are placed
alternately on each side of the twigs, and are oval, with the edges so
much waved that the leaves will not lie flat, but curl on each side of
the centre rib.
The prickly leaves which grow low down on the tree have sharp spines
along the waved edges, and a very sharp spine always grows at the
point of the leaf. But the upper branches are clothed with blunt
leaves which have no spines along the edges; instead there is a pale
yellow line round each leaf, and there is a single blunt spine at the
point.
Sheep and deer are very fond of eating the tough, leathery leaves of
the Holly, and it is believed that the tree clothes its lower branches
in prickly leaves to protect itself from these greedy enemies.
Country people tell you that if branches of smooth Holly are the first
to be brought into the house at Christmas-time, then the wife will be
head of the house all the next year, but if the prickly boughs enter
first, then the husband will be ruler.
The Holly leaves hang on the tree several years, and after they fall
they lie a long time on the ground before the damp soaks through
their leathery skin and makes them decay. You will find Holly leaves
from which all the green part of the leaf has disappeared, leaving a
beautiful skeleton leaf of grey fibre, which is still perfect in every
vein and rib.
The flowers of the Holly bloom in May. They appear in small crowded
clusters between the leaf stalk and the twig, and each flower is a
delicate pale pink on the outside, but is pure white within. There is
a calyx cup edged with four green points, and inside this cup stands a
long white tube, with four white petals at the top. There are four
yellow-headed stamens, and a tiny seed-vessel is hidden inside the
flower tube. Sometimes all these parts will be found complete in a
single flower; sometimes there will be flowers on the same branch
which have stamens and no seed-vessel, and others which have
seed-vessels and no stamens. Perhaps you will find a whole tree on
which not a single seed flower grows. This tree may be laden with
lovely white flowers in spring, but it will bear no berries in winter.
You must have both stamen flowers and seed flowers if the tree is to
produce any fruit.
As summer passes, the seed-vessels, which have had stamen dust
scattered over them, become small green berries and these berries turn
yellow and then change into a deep red, the colour of coral or sealing
wax. The berries cluster round the green stalk, and most beautiful
they are among the glossy dark leaves. Inside each berry there are
four little fruit stones containing seeds, and the birds love to eat
these red berries, which are full of mealy pulp; but remember that
children must never eat the Holly berries, as they are poisonous
except for the birds.
You will find that if the Holly tree has a good crop of berries this
winter there will not be many the following year; the tree seems to
require a year's rest before it can produce a second large crop.
There are some Holly trees with leaves which are shaded with pale yellow
or white-variegated Hollies, we call them. These are greatly prized for
planting in gardens, where the bushes with different-coloured leaves
lend much beauty when all the trees are bare in winter.
The wood of the Holly is too small to be of much use. It is white and
very hard, and when stained black it is largely used instead of ebony,
which is scarce and expensive. The black handles of many of our silver
teapots are made of stained Holly wood, and the slender branches are
good for making walking-sticks and coachmen's whips.
THE FABLE OF THE THREE ELMS
The North Wind spoke to three sturdy elms,
And, "Now you are dead!" said he;
"I have blown a blast till the snow whirled past,
And withered your leaves, and see:
You are brown and old and your boughs are cold!"
And he sneered at the elm trees three.
The first elm spoke in a hollow tone
(For the snow lay deep and white,)
"You think we are dead, North Wind?" he said,
"Why we sleep--as you sleep at night.
Beneath the snow lie my sturdy roots,
They grip on the friendly earth,
And I rest--till another year!" said he,
And he shook with a noisy mirth.
The second elm laughed a hearty laugh,
And, "North Wind," he cried in glee,
"Beneath my bark glows a living spark,
The sap of a healthy tree;
My boughs are bare and my leaves are gone,
But--what have I to fear?
For the winter time is my time of rest
And I sleep till another year!"
The third elm spoke and his voice was sweet,
And kind as the summery sea;
"Oh, Wind!" he said, "we are far from spring--
The God in whose hand we be
Looks down, with love, from the winter sky,
And sends us His sun to cheer;
If we had no snow there would be no spring--
We rest till another year!"
The three elms rocked in the stinging blast,
And under the heavy snow
Their roots were warm from the raging storm,
And safe from the winds that blow.
They smiled in their hearts and their leafless boughs
Spread over the frosty way;
For they knew that the God of forest trees
Would watch through each winter day.
The North Wind uttered a frosty sigh,
As the snow blew far and free;
And his weary eyes sought the winter skies,
And, "Mighty is God!" said he.
"To die or live are His gifts to give!"
And he smiled at the elm trees three.
Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.
THE PINE AND THE WILLOW
(Japanese Tale)
Mine Morishima
In a beautiful large garden, among many kinds of trees and shrubs,
there stood a tall fine Pine tree, and near to him, and almost as
tall, a graceful Willow.
One dark winter morning the wind blew hard and the clouds showed that
a storm was coming soon.
The Pine felt lonesome, as little children often do and thought he
would talk to the Willow. So he said, "Friend Willow, your branches
are trembling. I am sorry for you, for I know you are afraid of the
storm that is coming. I wish you were like me. I am so strong nothing
can hurt me. The frost cannot change the colour of my leaves nor the
wind blow them off; occasionally, some old ones may fall on the
ground, but there are always new ones to take their places--and I am
the only tree in this large garden that is always fresh and bright. As
for you, dear Willow, your branches all hang down, you have no leaves
now and, as you are neither strong nor pretty and shake in such a
little wind, of what good are you to yourself, or to any one else?"
"Dear Pine," the Willow answered, "I do not tremble with fear, for I
am not afraid, but God made me so that the wind would move my branches
very easily, and that I should not have leaves in the winter time. By
and by I shall have delicate green leaves and blossoms, and I thank
Him for giving me a beautiful summer dress, even though I go bare in
cold weather. It must be very beautiful to be strong and handsome, as
you are, and I am happy in having so good a friend."
While they were talking the wind had grown much stronger, and now the
rain came pouring down. The Pine stood up angrily against the wind,
scolding with a hin, hin, hin, while the Willow bent and swayed to
and fro and all the other trees bowed their heads.
Then the Pine said, "Willow, why do you not push this rude wind away
instead of yielding to him; you are cowardly to let him abuse you so,
when you might resist him, as I do."
Then the Willow answered, "There are many ways to keep oneself from
harm, and I do not like to resist any one with force."
The Pine was vexed at the Willow and would say no more, but battled
with the wind he could no longer hold back. Then his branches were
torn and his top broken off; they fell to the ground and the proud
tree was a sad sight.
But the Willow bent her branches and yielded to the wind, and so was
unhurt.
The next morning, when the rain had ceased and the sun shone brightly,
the owner of the garden came out to see how his trees had stood the
storm. When he saw the broken Pine he thought it was too bad to have a
broken tree in his fine garden, so he ordered the gardener to move the
Pine into the back yard.
After a time, spring came, and the Willow put forth her lovely green
leaves and every one who passed looked at the graceful tree and said,
"How beautiful she is, how gentle she seems!"
The little birds built their nests in her branches, and soon baby
birds came, which made the tree very happy. The butterflies danced
around in the sunshine and all summer little children loved to play in
the shade of the drooping Willow.
And when the Pine peeped in from the back yard, and saw how happy and
beautiful the Willow was, and how the children, the birds, and the
butterflies loved to play about her, he thought, "If only I had been
less proud of my own strength, then might I, too, be standing in that
beautiful garden with my crown of leaves, and with young life all
about me."
WHY THE WILD RABBITS ARE WHITE IN WINTER
(Algonquin Legend)
Adapted from "Algonquin Indian Tales," by Egerton R. Young. Copyright,
1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted by permission of the Abington
Press, Publishers.
Long ago Wild Rabbit of the Northland wore a brown fur coat,
throughout the year. Today, when the long winter months come, Wild
Rabbit changes his coat of brown to one that is the colour of the
snow. And this is how the change happened.
Wild Rabbit could not defend himself from his many foes. Almost all
the animals,--foxes of all kinds, wildcats, wolves, wolverines,
weasels, and ermine hunted Wild Rabbit for food. Then there were the
fierce birds,--the eagles, hawks, and owls--that were always on the
lookout for rabbits, young or old. The result was that with this war
continually waged against them, the poor rabbits had a hard time of
it, especially in winter. They found it very difficult to hide
themselves when the leaves were off the trees and the ground was
covered with snow.
In those days of long ago the animals used to have a large council.
There was a great father at the head of each kind of animal and bird,
and these leaders used to meet and talk about the welfare of their
kind. There was always peace and friendship among them while at the
council. They appointed a king and he presided as chief. All the
animals that had troubles or grievances had a right to come and speak
about them at the council, and if it were possible, all wrongs were
remedied.
Sometimes queer things were said. At one council the bear found great
fault with the fox who had deceived him and had caused him to lose his
beautiful tail by telling him to go and catch fish with it in a big
crack in the ice. The bear sat fishing so long that the crack froze up
solidly and, to save his life, the bear had to break off his tail.
But all the things they talked about were not so funny as the bear's
complaint. They had their troubles and dangers and they discussed
various plans for improving their condition; also, they considered how
they could best defeat the skill and cleverness of the human hunters.
At one of the council meetings, when the rabbit's turn to be heard
came, he said that his people were nearly all destroyed, that the rest
of the world seemed to be combined against his race and they were
killing them by day and night, in summer and winter. Also, he declared
that the rabbits had little power to fight against enemies, and,
therefore, his people were almost discouraged, but they had sent him
to the council to see if the members could suggest any remedy or plan
to save the rabbit race from complete destruction.
While the rabbit was speaking the wolverine winked at the wildcat,
while the fox, although he tried to look solemn, could not keep his
mouth from watering as he thought of the many rabbits he intended to
eat.
Thus it can be seen that the rabbit did not get much sympathy from his
enemies in the council. But his friends,--the moose, the reindeer,
and the mountain goat--stood up in the meeting and spoke out bravely
for their little friend. Indeed, they told the animals that had
laughed at the little rabbit's sad story that if they continued to
kill all the rabbits they could find there would soon be none left.
Then these cruel animals would be the greatest sufferers, for what
else could they find to eat in sufficient numbers to keep them alive,
if the rabbits were all gone?
This thought sobered the thoughtless animals at first but they soon
resumed their mocking at the poor little rabbit and his story. As they
happened to be in the majority, the council refused to do anything in
the matter.
When the moose heard the decision of the council he was very sorry for
his poor little brother rabbit. He lowered his head and told the
rabbit to jump on one of his flat horns. The moose then carried him
some distance away from the council and said, "There is no hope for
you here. Most of the animals live on you and so they will not do
anything that will make it more difficult for you to be caught than
it now is. Your only hope is to go to Manabozho, and see what he can
do for you. His name was once Manabush, which means Great Rabbit, so I
am sure he will be your friend because I think he is a distant
relative of yours."
Away sped the rabbit along the route described by the moose, who had
lately found out where Manabozho was stopping.
The rabbit was such a timid creature that, when he came near to
Manabozho, he was much afraid that he would not be welcomed. However,
his case was desperate, and although his heart was thumping with fear
he hurried along to have the matter decided as soon as possible.
To his great joy he found Manabozho in the best humour and the little
creature was received most kindly. The great Master saw how weary the
little rabbit was after the long journey so he made the little fellow
rest on some fragrant grass in the sunshine. Then Manabozho went out
and brought in some of the choicest things in his garden for the
rabbit.
"Tell me all your troubles, little brother," said Manabozho. "Also,
tell me about the council meeting."
The rabbit repeated his story and told all about the treatment he had
received at the council.
When the Great Master heard how unjustly the little rabbit had been
treated he grew very angry and said, "And that is the way they treated
little brother rabbit at the council we have given them, is it? And
they know we expect them to give the smallest and weakest the same
kind of justice as they offer the biggest and strongest! It is high
time for some one to report the council news to me if such unfair
meetings take place. Look out, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wolverine, and Mr.
Wildcat, for if I take you in hand you'll be sorry little brother
rabbit was obliged to come to Manabozho for help."
The Great Master had worked himself up into such a furious temper that
the rabbit was frightened almost to death. But when Manabozho saw this
he laughed and said, "I'm sorry to have frightened you, little
brother. But I was so very angry with those animals for ill-treating
you that I forgot myself. And now tell me what you wish me to do for
you?"
After a long talk about the matter it was decided that there should be
two great changes made. First, the eyes of the rabbit should be so
increased in power that in the future they would be able to see by
night as well as by day. Second, in all the Northland where much snow
falls during many months of the year the rabbits of that region should
change their coats for the winter season into a beautiful white colour
like the snow.
And the rabbits of the Northland now have a much better time than they
had formerly. In their soft white coats they can glide away from their
enemies, or they can sometimes escape notice by remaining perfectly
still on the white earth. (_Adapted._)
THE YEW
Janet Harvey Kelman
Once upon a time a discontented Yew tree grew in a wood. Other trees,
it thought, had larger and more beautiful leaves which fluttered in
the breeze and became red and brown and yellow in the sunshine, and
the Yew tree pined because the fairies had given it such an
unattractive dress. One morning the sunshine disclosed that all its
green leaves had changed into leaves made of gold, and the heart of
the Yew tree danced with happiness. But some robbers, as they stole
through the forest, were attracted by the glitter, and stripped off
every golden leaf. Again the tree bemoaned its fate, and next day the
sun shone on leaves of purest crystal. "How beautiful!" thought the
tree; "see how I sparkle!" But a hailstorm burst from the clouds, and
the sparkling leaves lay shivered on the grass. Once more the good
fairies tried to comfort the unhappy tree. Smooth broad leaves covered
its branches, and the Yew tree flaunted these gay banners in the wind.
But, alas, a flock of goats came by and ate of the fresh young leaves
"a million and ten." "Give me back again my old dress," sobbed the
Yew, "for I see that it was best." And ever since its leaves remain
unchanging, and it wears the sombre dress which covered its boughs in
the days when King William landed from Normandy on our shores, and the
swineherd tended his pigs in the great forests which covered so much
of Merry England.
HOW THE PINE TREE DID SOME GOOD
Samuel W. Duffield
It was a long narrow valley where the Pine Tree stood, and perhaps if
you want to look for it you might find it there today. For pine trees
live a long time, and this one was not very old.
The valley was quite barren. Nothing grew there but a few scrubby
bushes; and, to tell the truth, it was about as desolate a place as
you can well imagine. Far up over it hung the great, snowy caps of the
Rocky Mountains, where the clouds played hide and seek all day, and
chased each other merrily across the snow. There was a little stream,
too, that gathered itself up among the snows and came running down the
side of the mountain; but for all that the valley was very dreary.
Once in a while there went a large grey rabbit, hopping among the
sagebushes; but look as far as you could you would find no more
inhabitants. Poor, solitary little valley, with not even a cottonwood
down by the stream, and hardly enough grass to furnish three oxen with
a meal! Poor, barren little valley lying always for half the day in
the shadow of those tall cliffs--burning under the summer sun, heaped
high with the winter snows--lying there year after year without a
friend! Yes, it had two friends, though they could do it but little
good, for they were two pine trees. The one nearest the mountain,
hanging quite out of reach in a cleft of the rock, was an old, gnarled
tree, which had stood there for a hundred years. The other was
younger, with bright green foliage, summer and winter. It curled up
the ends of its branches, as if it would like to have you understand
that it was a very fine, hardy fellow, even if it wasn't as old as its
father up there in the cleft of the rock.
Now the young Pine Tree grew very lonesome at times, and was glad to
talk with any persons who came along, and they were few, I can tell
you. Occasionally, it would look lovingly up to the father pine, and
wonder if it could make him hear what it said. It would rustle its
branches and shout by the hour, but the father pine heard him only
once, and then the words were so mixed with falling snow that it was
really impossible to say what they meant.
So the Pine Tree was very lonesome and no wonder. "I wish I knew of
what good I am," he said to the grey rabbit one day. "I wish I
knew,--I wish I knew," and he rustled his branches until they all
seemed to say, "Wish I knew--wish I knew."
"O pshaw!" said the rabbit, "I wouldn't concern myself much about
that. Some day you'll find out."
"But do tell me," persisted the Pine Tree, "of what good you think I
am."
"Well," answered the rabbit, sitting up on her hind paws and washing
her face with her front ones, in order that company shouldn't see her
unless she looked trim and tidy--"well," said the rabbit, "I can't
exactly say myself what it is. If you don't help one, you help
another--and that's right enough, isn't it? As for me, I take care of
my family. I hop around among the sagebushes and get their breakfast
and dinner and supper. I have plenty to do, I assure you, and you must
really excuse me now, for I have to be off."
"I wish I was a hare," muttered the Pine Tree to himself, "I think I
could do some good then, for I should have a family to support, but I
know I can't now."
Then he called across to the little stream and asked the same question
of him. And the stream rippled along, and danced in the sunshine, and
answered him. "I go on errands for the big mountain all day. I carried
one of your cones not long ago to a point of land twenty miles off,
and there now is a pine tree that looks just like you. But I must run
along, I am so busy. I can't tell you of what good you are. You must
wait and see." And the little stream danced on.
"I wish I were a stream," thought the Pine Tree. "Anything but being
tied down to this spot for years. That is unfair. The rabbit can run
around, and so can the stream; but I must stand still forever. I wish
I were dead."
By and by the summer passed into autumn, and the autumn into winter,
and the snowflakes began to fall.
"Halloo!" said the first one, all in a flutter, as she dropped on the
Pine Tree. But he shook her off, and she fell still farther down on
the ground. The Pine Tree was getting very churlish and cross lately.
However, the snow didn't stop for all that and very soon there was a
white robe over all the narrow valley. The Pine Tree had no one to
talk with now. The stream had covered himself in with ice and snow,
and wasn't to be seen.
The hare had to hop around very industriously to get enough for her
children to eat; and the sagebushes were always low-minded fellows and
couldn't begin to keep up a ten-minutes' conversation.
At last there came a solitary figure across the valley, making its way
straight for the Pine Tree. It was a lame mule, which had been left
behind from some wagon-train. He dragged himself slowly on till he
reached the tree. Now the Pine, in shaking off the snow, had shaken
down some cones as well, and they lay on the snow. These the mule
picked up and began to eat.
"Heigh ho!" said the tree, "I never knew those things were fit to eat
before."
"Didn't you?" replied the mule. "Why I have lived on these things, as
you call them, ever since I left the wagons. I am going back on the
Oregon Trail, and I sha'n't see you again. Accept my thanks for
breakfast. Good-bye."
And he moved off to the other end of the valley and disappeared among
the rocks.
"Well!" exclaimed the Pine Tree. "That's something, at all events."
And he shook down a number of cones on the snow. He was really happier
than he had ever been before,--and with good reason, too.
After a while there appeared three people. They were a family of
Indians,--a father, a mother, and a little child. They, too, went
straight to the tree.
"We'll stay here," said the father, looking across at the snow-covered
bed of the stream and up at the Pine Tree. He was very poorly
clothed, this Indian. He and his wife and the child had on dresses of
hare-skins, and they possessed nothing more of any account, except bow
and arrows, and a stick with a net on the end. They had no lodge
poles, and not even a dog. They were very miserable and hungry. The
man threw down his bow and arrows not far from the tree. Then he began
to clear away the snow in a circle and to pull up the sagebushes.
These he and the woman built into a round, low hut, and then they
lighted a fire within it. While it was beginning to burn the man went
to the stream and broke a hole in the ice. Tying a string to his
arrow, he shot a fish which came up to breathe, and, after putting it
on the coals, they all ate it half-raw. They never noticed the Pine
Tree, though he scattered down at least a dozen more cones.
At last night came on, cold and cheerless. The wind blew savagely
through the valleys, and howled at the Pine Tree, for they were old
enemies. Oh, it was a bitter night, but finally the morning broke!
More snow had fallen and heaped up against the hut so that you could
hardly tell that it was there. The stream had frozen tighter than
before and the man could not break a hole in the ice again. The
sagebushes were all hid by the drifts, and the Indians could find none
to burn.
Then they turned to the Pine Tree. How glad he was to help them! They
gathered up the cones and roasted the seeds on the fire. They cut
branches from the tree and burned them, and so kept up the warmth in
their hut.
The Pine Tree began to find himself useful, and he told the hare so
one morning when she came along. But she saw the Indian's hut, and did
not stop to reply. She had put on her winter coat of white, yet the
Indian had seen her in spite of all her care. He followed her over the
snow with his net, and caught her among the drifts. Poor Pine Tree!
She was almost his only friend, and when he saw her eaten and her skin
taken for the child's mantle, he was very sorrowful, you may be sure.
He saw that if the Indians stayed there, he, too, would have to die,
for they would in time burn off all his branches, and use all his
cones; but he was doing good at last, and he was content.
Day after day passed by,--some bleak, some warm,--and the winter moved
slowly along. The Indians only went from their hut to the Pine Tree
now. He gave them fire and food, and the snow was their drink. He was
smaller than before, for many branches were gone, but he was happier
than ever.
One day the sun came out more warmly, and it seemed as if spring was
near. The Indian man broke a hole in the ice, and got more fish. The
Indian woman caught a rabbit. The Indian child gathered sagebushes
from under the fast-melting snow and made a hotter fire to cook the
feast. And they did feast, and then they went away.
The Pine Tree had found out his mission. He had helped to save three
lives.
In the summer there came along a band of explorers, and one, the
botanist of the party, stopped beside our Pine Tree:
"This," said he in his big words, "is the Pinus Monophyllus, otherwise
known as the Bread Pine." He looked at the deserted hut and passed his
hand over his forehead.
"How strange it is," said he. "This Pine Tree must have kept a whole
family from cold and starvation last winter. There are very few of us
who have done as much good as that." And when he went away, he waved
his hand to the tree and thanked God in his heart that it grew there.
And the Bread Pine waved his branches in return, and said to himself
as he gazed after the departing band: "I will never complain again,
for I have found out what a pleasant thing it is to do good, and I
know now that every one in his lifetime can do a little of it."
A WONDERFUL WEAVER
There's a wonderful weaver
High up in the air,
And he weaves a white mantle
For cold earth to wear.
With the wind for his shuttle,
The cloud for his loom,
How he weaves, how he weaves,
In the light, in the gloom.
Oh, with finest of laces,
He decks bush and tree;
On the bare, flinty meadows
A cover lays he.
Then a quaint cap he places
On pillar and post,
And he changes the pump
To a grim, silent ghost.
But this wonderful weaver
Grows weary at last;
And the shuttle lies idle
That once flew so fast.
Then the sun peeps abroad
On the work that is done;
And he smiles: "I'll unravel
It all, just for fun."
George Cooper.
THE PINE AND THE FLAX
Albrekt Segerstedt
Just where a forest ended grew a pine tree taller and more beautiful
than all the others in the forest. Far away could be seen its feathery
round crown, whose soft branches waved so gracefully when the wind
blew across the plain.
At the foot of the pine tree the fields of grain began.
Here the farmer sowed seeds of many kinds, but the flax was sowed
nearest the pine. It came up beautiful and even, and the pine thought
a great deal of the slender green thing.
The flax stalk raised itself higher and higher, and near the close of
summer it bore a little blue helmet on his head.
"Thou art so beautiful!" said the tall pine.
The flax bowed itself low, but raised again so gracefully that it
looked like a billowy sea.
The pine and the flax often talked to each other and became great
friends.
"What folly!" said the other forest trees to the pine. "Do not have
anything to do with the flax; it is so weak. Choose the tall spruce or
the birch tree. They are strong."
But the pine would not desert the flax.
The thistle and other small plants talked to the flax.
"You are crazy to think of the lofty pine. It does not trouble itself
about you. It is tall and proud. Children of a size play best
together. Think of the bush and vine and content yourself."
"I shall trust the pine," replied the flax. "It is honourable and
faithful and I am fond of it."
So the pine and the flax remained friends.
Time passed and the flax was pulled up and made into ropes and cloth.
The pine was felled and its trunk carried to the city. But the pine
and flax did not forget each other, though neither knew where the
other was.
A large, beautiful ship was launched upon the water. On this the pine
tree was erected as a mast, and on the highest part waved a flag.
Then came a great white sail to help the mast carry the proud ship
forward. It wrapped itself around the mast, spread itself out like a
great wing, and caught the wind on its wide curve.
The sail had been woven of linen that grew as flax out in the field on
the edge of the wood. And the two friends had met again.
Clasping each other faithfully, out over the foaming billows they went
to new lands. It was life, it was pleasure to go on united as friends.
The winds took a message back to the forest.
"Who would have believed it?" said the spruce and the birch.
THE FIR TREE
O singing Wind
Searching field and wood,
Cans't thou find
Aught that's sweet or good--
Flowers, to kiss awake,
Or dewy grass, to shake,
Or feathered seed
Aloft to speed?
Replies the wind:
"I cannot find
Flowers, to kiss awake,
Or dewy grass to shake,
Or feathered seed
Aloft to speed;
Yet I meet
Something sweet,
When the scented fir,--
Balsam-breathing fir--
In my flight I stir."
Edith M. Thomas.
WHY BRUIN HAS A STUMPY TAIL
(Norwegian Legend)
Once upon a time a sly fox lived in a deep forest which bordered a
river. One fine winter day he was lying in the sun near a brush heap
with his eyes closed, and he was thinking: "It has been several days
since I had a dainty supper. How I should enjoy a fine large fish this
evening. I'll slip over to the edge of the forest and watch the
fishermen as they go home with their day's catch. Perhaps good luck
will do something for me."
Now one old man had caught a very fine lot of fish of all sizes.
Indeed, he had so many that he was obliged to hire a cart in which to
carry them home. He was driving along slowly when suddenly he noticed
a red fox crouched under the bush near the road. He stopped his horse,
jumped down from the cart, and carefully crept near the spot where he
had seen Master Reynard. The fox did not open his eyes nor move a
muscle.
"Well," said the old fisherman, "I do believe he is dead! What a fine
coat he has. I will take him home and give him to my wife for a
present." He lifted the fox and put him into the cart among the fish.
The old man then mounted to his seat and drove merrily on, thinking
how pleased his wife would be with the fine fish and the fox. When
they were well on their way, the sly fox threw one fish after another
out of the cart until all lay scattered along on the road; then he
slipped out of the cart.
When the old man reached his cottage, he called out to his wife, "Come
and see the fine fish I caught to-day. And I have brought you a
beautiful gift, also."
His wife hurried to the cart and said, "Where are the fish, my
husband, and where is my present?"
"Why, there in the cart," he replied.
"In the cart!" exclaimed his wife. "Why, there is nothing here;
neither fish nor present, so far as I can see."
The old man looked and to his great surprise and disappointment he
discovered that what his wife said was true.
Meanwhile, the sly fox had gathered up the fish and had taken them to
the forest in order to enjoy a fine supper. Presently he heard a
pleasant voice saying, "Good evening, Brother Reynard."
He looked up and saw his friend Bruin. "Oh, good evening to you,"
answered the fox. "I have been fishing to-day, and, as you see, luck
certainly attended me."
"It did, indeed," answered the bear. "Could you not spare me one fish?
I should consider the gift a great favor."
"Oh," answered the fox, "why don't you go fishing yourself? I assure
you when one becomes a fisherman, he thoroughly enjoys the fruits of
patience."
"Go fishing, my friend," said Bruin, in astonishment. "That is
impossible. I know nothing about catching fish, I assure you."
"Pooh, it is very easy, especially in the winter time when ice nearly
covers the river. Let me tell you what to do. Make a hole in the ice
and stick your tail down into it. Hold it there just as long as you
can and keep saying, 'Come, little fish; come, big fish.' Don't mind
if the tail smarts a little; that only means that you have a bite, and
I assure you the longer you hold it there the more fish you will
catch. Then all at once, out with your tail. Give a strong pull
sideways, then upward, and you'll have enough fish to last you several
days. But mind you, follow my directions closely."
"Oh, my friend, I am very grateful for your kind information," said
Bruin, and off he went to the river where he proceeded to follow
Master Fox's directions.
In a short time sly Reynard passed by, and when he saw Bruin patiently
sitting on the ice with his tail in a hole, he laughed until his sides
ached. He said, wickedly, under his breath: "A clear sky, a clear sky!
Bruin's tail will freeze, Bruin's tail will freeze."
"What did you say, my friend?" asked the bear.
"Oh, I was making a wish," replied the fox.
All night long Bruin sat there, fishing patiently. Then he decided to
go home. How very heavy his tail felt. He thought to himself that all
the fish in the river must be fastened there. In a little while the
women of the village came to get water from the river, and when they
saw the bear, they called out at the top of their voices: "Come, come!
A bear, a bear! Kill him! Kill him!"
The men came quickly with great sticks in their hands. Poor Bruin gave
a short pull sideways and his tail snapped off short. He made off to
the woods as fast as he could go, but to this day he goes about with a
stumpy tail.
PINES AND FIRS
Mrs. Dyson
Pines and firs! Who knows the difference between a pine and a fir!
These trees are first cousins; they often dwell together in our woods;
they are evergreen; they have narrow, pointed leaves; and they bear
cones, and so we often call them all firs, as if they were brothers.
This may satisfy strangers and passers-by who only turn their heads
and say: "Ah! a fir wood," but it will not be sufficient for the
friends of the trees. Pines and firs are as different as oaks and
beeches; and who would not be ashamed to take a beech for an oak!
A fir is the shape of a church steeple or a spear-head about to cleave
the sky. The lowermost branches come out in a ring and spread out
straight and stiff like the spokes of a wheel. Above this whorl is
another of shorter branches still, and so on, till the top ring is
quite a little one round a pointed shoot. The little shoots fork out
on each side of the big branches, and like them are set closely with
leaves. These shoots do not point up to the sky nor down to the earth;
they spread out flat, so that the branch looks like a huge fern.
Pines begin to grow like firs; but as they shoot up side by side in
the woods, their lower branches drop off for want of air and sunshine,
and their upper branches spread out wider. A fir is a pyramid with a
pointed top; but a full-grown pine has a flat top, and often a tall,
bare trunk, so that it looks like a great umbrella. A famous Roman
writer, Pliny, said that the smoke of a volcano was like a pine tree.
The smoke shoots up in a great pillar from the mouth of the fiery
mountain, and then spreads itself out in a black cap.
You have often amused yourselves with finding pictures in the clouds.
Have you seen a pillar of mist rise up from the horizon, the meeting
line of the earth and sky, and then lose itself in a soft cloud? The
country people in some parts of Europe call this cloud-form
_Abraham's tree_ or _Adam's tree_, because it is so like a pine tree.
When the clouds break up into the soft, white, fleecy ripples that we
call a mackerel sky, they say, "We shall have wind, for Adam's tree is
putting forth leaves."
The pine trees dress themselves in long, blue-green, rounded needles
set in bundles of two, three, or more, bristling out all round their
branches; but the fir trees wear short, narrow, flat leaves of a
yellow-green colour, set singly each one by itself. These fir leaves
come out all round the stem just as pine leaves do, but they are
parted down the middle as we sometimes part our hair, so that they
spread out flat in two thick rows.
Mr. Ruskin calls the pines and firs and their relations the builders
with the sword, because of their narrow, pointed leaves, and the
broad-leaved trees he calls the builders with the shield. The trees of
the sword stand erect on the hills like armed soldiers prepared for
war; while the trees of the shield spread themselves in the valleys to
shelter the fields and pastures.
Why do these mountain trees have such narrow leaves? Can you find out
a reason? Perhaps this is one: when the great, strong wind is raging
with all his force, he will not suffer any resistance but breaks down
everything that tries to stay him in his course; if he meets broad
leaves and heavy branches, he hurls them out of his way, but he just
whistles through the slender leaves and branches of the pines and
firs, and scarcely knows they are there.
When you gather the cones in the wood, you may know at once whether
they have fallen from pine trees or from fir trees. A pine cone looks
like a single piece of carved solid wood until it opens, and then each
hard scale shows a thick, square head; but the fir cones are made of
broad, papery scales, with thin edges laid neatly one over the other.
Now you will never have any difficulty in knowing the pines from the
firs, even in the far distance--colour, form, dress, fruit, all are
different.
How is it we make a mistake, and call the Scotch pine by the name of
Scotch fir? Perhaps it is because this tree is the only one of the
great pine and fir family that is a real native of Britain. Our
stay-at-home ancestors who lived above three hundred years ago never
saw a real fir, and so their one pine had to represent all its
relations. They knew it perhaps better than we do, for in their days
there were many forests that have since been cut down to make room for
houses and gardens and fields.
Sometimes when you have been walking over the moorland you have run to
gather some bright yellow moss, and have suddenly found your foot
sinking into wet, black mud, and you have heard stories of men and
horses sucked down by just such dreadful slime. Hundreds of years ago
forests stood where now lie these dangerous bogs, and the trees and
shrubs rotting and decaying in the wet have changed into black, brown
swamps. Many bogs have been drained, and the trunks of pine trees have
been found in them standing as they grew. In one bog in Yorkshire pine
trees were found sawn across and left to lie and rot. Who felled these
trees which have been lying there hundreds of years? Can we tell? Yes;
for among the trees are scattered axe-heads and Roman coins, and we
are able to picture the old story of the place. There was once a
forest there, and the ancient Britons hid themselves in its shelter,
and the Romans cut down the trees to drive them from their
hiding-place.
There are two common kinds of firs which you will find in the woods.
One is the spruce fir, a very prim and proper tree, with slightly
curving branches turned up at the tips. It looks as if the branches
had been all cut to a pattern, and their length and the distances
between them carefully measured. When you have been washed and brushed
and pulled and straightened, and had every hair and bow set in its
proper place, so that you look particularly trim and neat, you
sometimes laugh and call one another _spruce_, like the spruce fir.
Some people think the name "spruce" means the _pruce_, or Prussian
tree; others say it means the sprouting tree, the tree that sprouts at
the ends of its branches. In some countries these bright-green sprouts
are cut off and made into a kind of beer called spruce beer.
The spruce fir is at home on the high mountains of Europe where it
often grows one hundred and fifty feet high. You long for the time
when you will be taken to Switzerland to see the snow-capped Alps.
Then standing out against the white snow and the glittering ice rivers
you will see the dark spruce forests. This fir is also at home in
Norway and the cold lands of the North, and so we call it the Norway
Spruce to distinguish it from other kinds of spruce fir that grow in
America. In Norway many old men and women earn a living by gathering
and selling in the markets pieces of fir for the people to strew on
the graves as we do flowers.
What sort of cones has the spruce? Can you find some in the fir wood?
They are five or six inches long and perhaps two inches thick. You
will see them hanging from the ends of the upper branches, and perhaps
you may find some empty ones on the ground. Look at them. Those thin
scales are very different from the tough walls of the pine cone: each
one is shaped off to a point, and this point is divided into two sharp
teeth.
Perhaps when you are looking for the cones, you will find growing fast
to the branches among the leaves some fanciful things that look like
little cones. These are very gay; every scale has a border of crimson
velvet and a green spine in the middle of its back, like a little
tusk. If you open them you will find some brown, soft things inside.
Do you know what they are? Perhaps, if you have not already made
friends with the real cone, you will think these are seeds; but some
of you are growing wise, and know that you have intruded into a little
nest of insects. If you tie a net round the branch and keep watch, you
may see them come out. Their mother pierced a hole in a brown bud last
autumn and laid her eggs there; then when the buds burst in spring the
lower leaves grew fast together and made this comfortable house, and
those green tusks you see are the leaf points.
But what is the other kind of fir that grows in our wood? It is rather
like the spruce in shape, but it is not quite so stiff and prim and
proper, and underneath each little leaf there are two silver lines,
and so we call this the silver fir. You may always know it from the
spruce by these silver lines. Each stiff little leaf has its edges
rolled under as if ready for hemming, and there is a thick green rib
down the middle of the under side, so the silver lining just peeps out
in single streaks between the rib and the hems.
The spring tufts of the Norway spruce are of a bright yellow-green;
those of the silver fir are paler and softer in tint, more like the
primrose. When the sulphur butterfly lights on them we lose sight of
him, so he flits from one to another, feeling quite safe, and keeping
carefully away from those dark old leaves where he would be pounced
upon at once.
The silver fir does not let its cones hang down; it holds them proudly
erect on its branches; like little towers often eight inches high. We
wonder how such slender twigs can hold up such large cones. They look
like hairy giants, for their scales do not end in two little teeth,
but in a long point which turns back and bends downwards.
The silver fir does not like quite such cold places as the spruce and
the Scotch pine; it dwells lower down the mountain sides, and is at
home in Central Europe.
All the pines and firs, like the Scotch pine, have those wonderful
pipes and reservoirs of sticky turpentine juice inside their bark, but
each kind of fir has its own way of making its stores, and so we get
different kinds of resin and turpentine and balsams from different
trees.
It is these stores of resin that make the pine wood burn so brightly.
The Highland chief needed no gas for his great illuminations; he had
only to call his followers to hold up branches of blazing pine. It is
not very wise to light a picnic fire in a pine or fir wood, for
sometimes a few sparks will set a whole forest in flames.
_Fir_--_fire_: how much alike these two words are! Do you think they
must have some connection with one another? Were the first fires made
of fir wood? or was this tree called fir because it made such good
fires? These words are so old that we can only guess their history.
Those of you who like pretty things have often fingered admiringly
some bright, shining necklace of amber beads. The pieces of amber
from which those beads were cut were picked up on the shores of the
Baltic Sea, and it is supposed that once upon a time some great pines
or firs dropped their gummy juice and this hardened into these
beautiful transparent stones.
Pines and firs are some of our greatest tree givers. They seem never
tired of giving. Can you think of anything that is made of pine or fir
wood? Perhaps you remember hearing that the seats or panels or
ceilings in your school or church were of the wood of an American pine
called the pitch pine. But common fir wood has a name of its own. Who
has not heard of _deal_? A _deal_ is a part or portion, and so we talk
of a great deal of something meaning a large portion. Our fir wood
comes in great quantities from Norway and Germany, where it is first
cut and sawn into planks. Each plank is a _deal_--that is, a portion
of the wood. It has been easy to leave out the article and call the
wood _deal_.
Our white deal comes from the firs, chiefly from the Norway spruce.
The darker-coloured deal is the gift of the Scotch pine.
How can the great trees be carried from the mountain-tops, do you
suppose? The streams are the carriers; they float the great trunks
down to the rivers, where they are tied together in great rafts and
floated on again to their new home, or to the seaport from which they
can be shipped to foreign lands. Sometimes when the nearest stream is
at a long distance from the trees, a wooden slide is made to it. In
the winter, water is poured down the slide, and when it freezes the
trees easily shoot down the slippery way to the stream. Oh, what fun
it must be! You would like to be there to see. In the year 1810, when
all Europe was at war with the great Emperor Napoleon, the deal
traffic on the Baltic Sea was stopped. What was to be done? Near the
Lake of Lucerne there is a high mountain, called Mont Pilate, covered
with great forests of pine and fir. If these could only be cut down
and brought to the lake, they could easily be floated down the Rhine
to the sea. So a tremendous slide was made from Mont Pilate to the
lake. It was six feet broad, and from three to six feet deep, and
eight miles long, and twenty-five thousand pine trees were used in
making it. When water had been poured down and had frozen, the great
trunks were started one at a time. Away they shot, and reached the
lake, eight miles off, in six minutes, and in wet weather, when the
slide was very slippery, they were only three minutes on the way.
Look at the deal planks on the floor of your room. Do you see those
dark knots? They show you where once branches sprang out of the trunk.
Many of these decayed and dropped off while quite young, and a little
store of juice prepared for the branch gathered into the knot and
turned it brown and dark. You will often find the knots in pairs,
showing you how the branches grew opposite one another.
These long straight lines in the plank that we call the _grain_ show
the rings of wood made by the pine tree year by year.
How astonished you would be if suddenly out of that plank a great
insect were to creep and spread out its wings. This sometimes
happens, to the alarm of the people in the room, but only when the
wood is new and has been used too soon, before it was properly dried
and seasoned. The insect looks very formidable, for it has a long,
pointed weapon at the end of its body, but it is quite harmless. It is
called the _giant sirex_, and it looks something like a wasp or
hornet. With its weapon it pierces holes in the pine tree bark and
lays its eggs there. The grubs eat great tunnels in the trunk, and
when they are full grown they creep nearly to the outside, and there
wait till they are changed and their wings are ready before they creep
out. Sometimes while they wait the tree is cut down and then they are
either sawn in two or left inside the plank.
We often see young fir trees in a very strange place, bearing
wonderful fruit of gold and silver shining lights, and glittering
toys.
"The fir tree stood
In a beautiful room;
A hundred tapers
Dispelled the gloom.
All decked with gold and silver was he,
And lilies and roses so fair to see.
Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;
A prince in all the forests is he!
The little children
With merry shout
Came crowding, clustering
Round about.
Brighter and rounder grew their eyes,
And they gazed at the fir in glad surprise.
Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;
A prince in all the forests is he!"
WHO LOVES THE TREES BEST?
Who loves trees best?
"I," said the spring,
"Their leaves so beautiful
To them I bring."
Who loves the trees best?
"I," summer said,
"I give them blossoms,
White, yellow, red."
Who loves the trees best?
"I," said the fall,
"I give luscious fruits,
Bright tints to all!"
Who loves the trees best?
"I love them best,"
Harsh winter answered,
"I give them rest."
CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE
A CHRISTMAS SONG
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!
Christmas in lands of fir tree and pine;
Christmas in lands of palm tree and vine,
Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white;
Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright;
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!
Christmas where children are hopeful and gay;
Christmas where old men are patient and grey;
Christmas where peace like a dove in its flight,
Broods over brave men in the thick of the fight;
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night.
Phillips Brooks.
THE SHEPHERD MAIDEN'S GIFT
(Eastern Legend)
In the quiet midnight, peace brooded over the fields where the
shepherds were watching their flocks. The tinkling of sheepbells, the
bleating of lambs, and the barking of watchdogs had gradually ceased.
Around a large campfire several shepherds lay resting, for they had
had a long, hard day. Each had beside him a strong shepherd's crook
and a stout club ready for use in case any lurking danger threatened
the beloved flocks.
Not far away from the campfire a shepherd maiden lay sleeping in the
rude shelter of a rocky cave. All day long she had helped her father
guard the sheep, and when darkness fell over the fields and hills, she
was glad to lie down in her snug bed made of the fleecy skins of kids
and lambs.
Suddenly a light filled the cave and wakened the maiden. Thinking it
was daybreak, she sprang up, stepped to the rude doorway, and pushed
aside the curtain of goatskin.
"What has happened?" she whispered.
The fields and hills were flooded with light. The group of shepherds
were standing close together, gazing intently at the luminous eastern
sky. A moment later she saw them fall on their knees in worship. There
in the entrance of her rude shelter, she, too, knelt and prayed.
Clearly she saw the shining angel appear and in the peaceful stillness
of the night she heard these words:
"Be not afraid; for, behold, I bring good tidings of great joy which
shall be to all the people: for there is born to you this day, in the
city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be
the sign unto you: ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes
and lying in a manger."
And suddenly there was with the angel many, many others. Together they
lifted up their voices in praise and sang,
"Glory to God in the highest,
Peace on earth
Good will toward men."
When the sweet music died away, the maiden rose to her feet and joined
the shepherds.
"I saw the angel, Father, and heard the singing," she whispered.
"Christ, the Lord, is born," answered her father.
"Let us hasten to Bethlehem and see the Heavenly Child who fulfills
the promise of God," said one of the shepherds.
"Shall we leave our flocks?" asked another. But the question was not
answered.
"Come, let us see what gifts we have to carry to the Christ-child,"
said the shepherd who first saw the light in the sky.
In a few moments these simple-hearted men were ready to start across
the fields and over the low hills to Bethlehem. Very humble gifts they
had to offer, but their hearts were filled with joy and wonder.
Standing near the entrance to the cave the shepherd maiden could see
the outline of the group of men making their way to the city of David.
"They are going to see the Christ-child," she said to herself, "a babe
wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."
How she would love to see the Heavenly Child! A deep longing to behold
the little new-born King seized her. She would follow the shepherds to
Bethlehem. One glimpse at the Christ-child would fill her heart with
joy.
Away over the star-lit fields and hills she started. Not once did she
falter, although the way was long and some of the hillsides were hard
to climb.
Finally, she saw the shepherds pass in the gate of the city of
Bethlehem.
"I came to see the Christ-child," she said to a group of people who
stood whispering together. They looked at her in astonishment.
"I am following the shepherds," she added.
"They have gone to the inn," was the answer.
When she reached the inn she was directed to a cave near, which served
as a stable.
There through the entrance she saw the shepherds lay their humble
presents at Mary's feet and then kneel in solemn adoration.
"I have brought nothing to offer," whispered the maiden, looking
wistfully into the rude shelter. "I cannot go in without a gift--a
little gift for the Christ-child."
Tears of disappointment filled her eyes. Slowly she turned to leave
the place. But after she had taken a few steps she stopped and burst
into sobs. How could she go away without a glimpse of the Heavenly
Child? Then, as she stood weeping, a marvelous thing happened. An
angel appeared beside her and said:
"Lo, here at thy feet is a gift for the Christ-child."
Then she saw growing near her, slender stems covered with delicate
green leaves and bearing lovely flowers.
The maiden did not stop to wonder. Here was a gift fit to offer the
little Saviour. With trembling joy she gathered the Christmas roses
and stepped lightly into the humble house where the little babe lay
smiling in his mother's arms. In Mary's lap the maiden laid her gift
of flowers, and, with radiant face, she knelt and filled her heart
with the glorious vision.
CHRISTMAS GIFTS
Laura E. Richards
"Mother," said Jack, "may I have some money to buy Christmas presents
with?"
"Dear," said his mother, "I have no money. We are very poor, and I can
hardly buy enough food for us all."
Jack hung his head; if he had not been ten the tears would have come
to his eyes, but he was ten.
"All the other boys give presents!" he said.
"So shall you!" said his mother. "All presents are not bought with
money. The best boy that ever lived was as poor as we are, and yet He
was always giving."
"Who was He," asked Jack; "and what did He give?"
"This is His birthday," said the mother. "He was the good Jesus. He
was born in a stable, and He lived in a poor working-man's house. He
never had a penny of His own, yet he gave twelve good gifts every day.
Would you like to try His way?"
"Yes!" cried Jack.
So his mother told him this and that; and soon after Jack started out,
dressed in his best suit, to give his presents.
First, he went to Aunt Jane's house. She was old and lame, and she did
not like boys.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Merry Christmas!" said Jack. "May I stay for an hour and help you?"
"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. "Want to keep you out of mischief, do they?
Well, you may bring in some wood."
"Shall I split some kindling, too?" asked Jack.
"If you know how," said Aunt Jane. "I can't have you cutting your foot
and messing my clean shed all up."
Jack found some fresh pine wood and a bright hatchet, and he split up
a great pile of kindling and thought it fun. He stacked it neatly, and
then brought in a pail of fresh water and filled the kettle.
"What else can I do?" he asked. "There are twenty minutes more."
"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. "You might feed the pig."
Jack fed the pig, who thanked him in his own way.
"Ten minutes more!" he said. "What shall I do now?"
"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. "You may sit down and tell me why you came."
"It is a Christmas present!" said Jack. "I am giving hours for
presents. I had twelve, but I gave one to mother, and another one was
gone before I knew I had it. This hour was your present."
"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. She hobbled to the cupboard and took out a
small round pie that smelt very good. "Here!" she said. "This is
_your_ present, and I thank you for mine. Come again, will you?"
"Indeed I will," said Jack, "and thank you for the pie!"
Next Jack went and read for an hour to old Mr. Green, who was blind.
He read a book about the sea, and they both liked it very much, so
the hour went quickly. Then it was time to help mother get dinner, and
then time to eat it; that took two hours, and Aunt Jane's pie was
wonderful. Then Jack took the Smith baby for a ride in its carriage,
as Mrs. Smith was ill, and they met its grandfather, who filled Jack's
pockets with candy and popcorn and invited him to a Christmas tree
that night.
Next Jack went to see Willy Brown, who had been ill for a long time
and could not leave his bed. Willy was very glad to see him; they
played a game, and then each told the other a story, and before Jack
knew it the clock struck six.
"Oh!" cried Jack. "You have had two!"
"Two what?" asked Willy.
"Two hours!" said Jack; and he told Willy about the presents he was
giving. "I am glad I gave you two," he said, "and I would give you
three, but I must go and help mother."
"Oh, dear!" said Willy. "I thank you very much, Jack. I have had a
perfectly great time; but I have nothing to give you."
Jack laughed. "Why, don't you see?" he cried; "you have given me just
the same thing. I have had a great time, too."
"Mother," said Jack, as he was going to bed, "I have had a splendid
Christmas, but I wish I had had something to give you besides the
hours."
"My darling," said his mother, "you have given me the best gift of
all--yourself!"
SILVER BELLS
Across the snow the Silver Bells
Come near and yet more near;
Each Day and Night, each Night and Day
They tinkle soft and clear.
'Tis Father Christmas on his way
Across the winter Snows;
While on his sleigh the Silver Bells
Keep chiming as he goes.
I listen for them in the Night,
I listen all the Day,
I think these merry Silver Bells
Are long, long on the way!
Hamish Hendry.
THE ANIMALS' CHRISTMAS TREE
John P. Peters
Once upon a time the animals decided to have a Christmas tree, and
this was how it came about: The swifts and the swallows in the
chimneys in the country houses, awakened from their sleep by joy and
laughter, had stolen down and peeped in upon scenes of happiness, the
center of which was always an evergreen tree covered with wonderful
fruit, bright balls of many colours, and sparkling threads of gold and
silver, lying like beautiful frost-work among the green fir needles. A
sweet, fairy-like figure of a Christ Child or an angel rested high
among the branches, and underneath the tree were dolls and sleds and
skates and drums and toys of every sort, and furs and gloves and
tippets, ribbons and handkerchiefs, and all the things that boys and
girls need and like; and all about this tree were gathered always
little children with faces--oh! so full of wonderment and expectation,
changing to radiant, sparkling merriment as toys and candies were
taken off the tree or from underneath its boughs and distributed among
them.
The swifts and swallows told their feathered friends all about it, and
they told others, both birds and animals, until at last it began to be
rumoured through all the animal world that on one day in the year the
children of men were made wonderfully happy by means of some sort of
festival which they held about a fir tree from the forest. Now, of
course, the tame animals and the house animals, the dogs and the cats
and the mice, knew something more about this festival. But then, they
did not exchange visits with the wild animals, because they felt
themselves above them.
They were always trying to be like men and women, you know, putting on
airs and pretending to know everything; but, after all, they were
animals and could not help making friendships now and then with the
wild creatures, especially when the men and women were not there. And
when they were asked about the Christmas tree, they told still more
wonderful stories than the swifts and the swallows from the chimneys
had told, for some of them had taken part in these festivals, and some
had even received presents from the tree, just like the children.
They said that the tree was called a Christmas tree, because that
strange fruit and that wonderful frosting came on it only in the
Christmas time, and that the Christmas time was the time when men and
women and little children, too, were always kind and good and loving,
and gave things to one another; and they said, moreover, that on the
Christmas tree grew the things which every one wanted, and which would
make them happy, and that it was so, because in the Christmas time
everyone was trying to make everyone else happy and to think of what
other people would like. This they said was what they had seen and
heard told about Christmas trees. They did not quite understand why it
was so, but they knew that the Christmas tree, when rightly made,
brought the Christmas spirit, and they had heard men say that the
Christmas spirit was the great thing, and that that was what made
everyone happy.
Well, the long and the short of it was that the animals talked of it
in their dens and on their roosts, in the fields, and in the forests,
wild beasts and tame alike--the cows and the horses in their stalls,
the sheep in their fold, the doves in their cotes and the poultry in
the poultry-yard, until all agreed that a Christmas tree would be a
grand thing for the wild and tame alike. Like the men, they, too,
would have a tree of their very own. But how to do it?
Then the lion called a meeting of all the creatures, wild and tame;
for you know the lion is king of beasts and when he calls they all
must come. You know, too, that before and during and after these
animal congresses there is a royal peace. The lamb can come to the
meeting and sit down by the wolf, and the wolf dare not touch him; the
dove may perch on the bough between the hawk and the owl and neither
will harm him, when the great king of beasts has summoned them all
together to take counsel. But you know all about the rules of the
animals, for you have read them in books, and you have seen the
pictures: how the lion sits on his throne with a crown on one side of
his head, and all the other creatures gather about--the elephant, and
giraffe, the hippopotamus, the buffalo, wolves and tigers and
leopards, foxes and deer, goats and sheep, monkeys and orang-outangs,
parrots and robins and turkeys and swans and storks and eagles and
frogs and lizards and alligators, and all the rest besides.
Then, when the lion had called the meeting to order, the swifts and
the swallows told what they had seen, and a fat little pug-dog, with a
ribbon and a silver bell about his neck, wheezed out a story of a
Christmas tree that he had seen, and how a silver bell had grown on
that tree for him and a whole box of the best sweets he had ever
dreamed of while he lay comfortably snoozing on his cushion before the
fire. And a Persian cat, with her hair turned the wrong way, mewed out
her story of a Christmas tree that she had attended, and told how
there was a white mouse made of cream cheese for her creeping about
beneath the branches.
Then the monkeys chattered and the elephants trumpeted, the horses
neighed, the hyenas laughed, and each in his own way argued for a
Christmas tree and told what he would do to help make it.
The elephant would go into the forest, and choose the tree and pull it
up. The buffaloes would drag it in. The giraffe would fix the
ornaments on the higher limbs, because its neck was long. The monkeys
would scramble up where the giraffe could not reach. The squirrels
could run out on the slender twigs and help the monkeys. The birds
would fly about and get the golden threads and put them on the tree
with their beaks. The fire-flies would hide themselves among the
branches and sparkle like diamonds, and the glow-worms promised to
help the fire-flies by playing candles, if someone would lift them up
and put them on the branches. The parrots and paroquets and other
birds of gay plumage would give feathers to hang among the branches,
and the humming-birds promised to flutter in and out among the twigs,
and the sheep to give white wool to lie like snow among the boughs.
Then the parrots screeched and the peacocks screamed with delight, and
you and I never could have told whether anybody voted aye or nay; but
the lion knew; and the owl, for he was clerk, set it down in the
minutes, as the lion bade him, that all the birds and beasts would do
their part. So each planned what he could do. Even the little beetle,
who makes great balls of earth, thought that if he could only once see
one of those gay balls that grow on the children's Christmas tree, he
might make some for the animals' tree. Different birds and beasts told
of the oranges and apples and holly-berries and who knows what they
could get and hang upon the tree. You see the animals came from many
places, and then, too, they could send the carrier pigeons to go and
bring fruit and berries, and who knows what besides, from oh, so far
away, because the carrier pigeons can fly through the air no one knows
how fast or how far.
Well, I cannot tell you everything that each one was going to do, but
if you will go and get your Noah's ark and take the animals out one by
one, then you surely will think it out for yourself, for you have all
the animals there.
And so they arranged how they would ornament the tree, and the next
thing was to decide what presents should be hung on the tree or put
beneath its boughs, for each one must have his present. Well, after
much discussion in roars, and bellows, crows and croaks, lows and
screams and bleats, and baas and grunts, and all the other sounds of
birds and beast language, it was voted that each might choose the
present he wished hung on the tree. The clerkly owl should call their
names one by one, and each might declare his choice. So they began.
The parrots and the macaws thought that they would like oranges and
bananas and such things, which would look so pretty on the tree, too;
and so they were arranged for. The robins and the cedar birds chose
cherries; the the partridges, partridge berries, the squirrels, the
red and grey and black, nuts and apples and pears. The monkeys said
the popcorn strings would do for them, and the cats and dogs,
remembering the Christmas gift which the pug-dog and Persian cat had
told about, asked for tiny mice made of cream cheese or chocolate. By
and by it came the pig's turn to tell his choice. "Grunt, grunt!" said
the pig, "I want a nice pail of swill hung on the very lowest bough of
all."
"Ugh!" said the black leopard, so sleek and so clean.
"Faugh!" said the gazelle, with his dainty sense of smell.
"Neigh!" said the horse, so daintily groomed.
"What!" roared the lion, "what's that you want?"
"A pail of swill," grunted the pig. "Each one has chosen what he
wants, and I have a right to choose what I want."
"But," roared the lion, "each one has chosen something beautiful to
make the tree a joy to all."
"Grunt, grunt," said the pig. "The parrots and macaws are going to
have oranges and bananas, and the robins and the cedar birds red
cherries, the partridges, their berries, the squirrels, nuts and
apples and pears, the dog and the cat, their cream and chocolate mice.
They all have what they want to eat. Grunt, grunt," said he; "I will
have what I want to eat, too, and what I want is a pail of swill."
Now, you see it had been voted, as I told you, that each should have
what he wanted hung on the tree for him, and so the lion could not
help himself. If the pig chose swill, swill he must have, and angrily
he had to roar: "If the pig wants swill, a pail of swill he must have,
hung on the lowest bough of the tree!"
Then the wolf's wicked eyes gleamed, for his turn was next, and he
said: "If the pig has swill because he wants swill to eat, I must have
what I want to eat, and I want a tender lamb, six months old." And at
that all the lambs and the sheep bleated and baaed.
"Ha, ha!" barked the fox; "then I want a turkey!" And the turkeys
gobbled in fear.
"And I," said the tiger, "want a yearling calf." And the cows and the
calves lowed in horror.
"And I," said the owl, the clerk, "I want a plump dove."
"And I," said the hawk, "will take a rabbit."
"And I," said the leopard, "want a deer or a gazelle."
Then all was fear and uproar. The hares and rabbits scuttled into the
grass; the gazelles and the deer bounded away; the sheep and the
cattle crowded close together; the small birds rose in the air in
flocks; and the Christmas tree was like to have come to grief and
ended, not in Christmas joy, but in fear and hatred and terror.
Then a little lamb stepped out and bleated: "Ah! king lion, it would
be very sad if all the animals should lose their Christmas tree, for
the very thought of that tree has brought us closer together, and here
we were, wild and tame, fierce and timid, met together as friends; and
oh! king lion, rather than there should not be a tree, they may take
me and hang me on it. Let them not take the turkeys and gazelles and
the calves and the rabbits and all the rest that they have chosen. Let
the tigers and leopards, and wolves and foxes and eagles, and hawks
and owls and all their kind be content that their Christmas present
shall be a lamb; and so we may come together again and have our happy
Christmas tree, and each have what he wishes."
"But," said the lion, "what will you have? If you give yourself, then
you will have no Christmas present."
"Yes," said the lamb, "I, too, shall have what I want, for I shall
have brought them all together again, and made each one happy."
Then a dove fluttered down from a tree and landed on the ground beside
the lamb, and very timidly and softly she cooed: "Take me, too, king
lion, as the present for the owls and the hawks, and the weasels and
minks, because for them a lamb is too big. I am the best present for
them. Take me, king lion!"
Then the lion roared: "See what the lamb and the dove have done! My
food, oh, tigers and leopards and wolves and eagles and all your kind,
is like your food; but I would rather eat nothing from our Christmas
tree than take this lamb or dove for my present."
Then all the beasts kept still, because the lion roared so loud and
angrily, and the birds that were flying away settled on the branches
of the trees, and the gazelles stopped their running and turned their
heads to listen, and the rabbits peeped out through the grass and
brush where they had hid. Then the lion turned to the pig, and roared:
"See this lamb and this dove! Are you not ashamed for what you have
done? You have spoiled all our happiness. Will you take back your
choice, you pig, or do you wish to ruin our Christmas tree?"
"Grunt, grunt," said the pig, "it is my right. I want something good.
I don't care for your lambs and your doves. I want my swill!"
Then the lion roared again: "Have all chosen?" and all answered,
"Yes."
"Then," said the lion, "it is my choice."
And all said: "It is."
"I love fat and tender pigs. I choose a pig for my Christmas gift,"
roared the lion.
Did you ever hear a pig squeal? Oh, how that pig squealed then! And he
got up on his fat little legs and tried to run away, but all the
animals gathered around in a ring and the hyenas laughed, and the
jackals cried, and the dogs and the wolves and the foxes headed him
off and hunted the poor pig back again. Then, when the pig found that
he could not run away, he lay down on his back with his feet in the
air and squealed with all his might: "Oh, I don't want the swill; oh,
I don't want the swill! I take it all back! I don't want anything!"
But at first no one heard him, because all were talking at once in
their own way--barking and growling and roaring and chattering; but by
and by the lion saw that the pig was squealing something, so he roared
for silence, and then they all heard the pig squeal out that he did
not want any swill. And the lion roared aloud: "You have heard. Has
the owl recorded that the pig will have no swill?"
"Yes," said the owl.
"Then," said the lion, "record that the lion wants no pig."
Then the tiger growled: "And I want no calf," and one by one the
leopard and the eagle, the wolf and the fox, the hawk and owl, and
all their kind, took back their votes.
And so it came about that the animals did have a Christmas tree after
all; but instead of hanging lambs and doves upon the tree, they agreed
that they could hang little images of lambs and doves, and other birds
and animals, too, perhaps. And by and by the custom spread until the
humans came to hang the same little images on their trees, too, and
when you see a little figure of a lamb or a dove on the Christmas
tree, you may know that it is all because the lamb and the dove, by
their unselfishness, saved the animals from strife; for neither
thought what he wanted from the tree, but each was ready to give
himself for the others, so that they might not fight and kill one
another at the Christmas time.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
The Shepherds had an Angel,
The Wise Men had a star,
But what have I, a little child,
To guide me home from far,
Where glad stars sing together
And singing angels are?
Those Shepherds through the lonely night
Sat watching by their sheep,
Until they saw the heavenly host
Who neither tire nor sleep,
All singing "Glory, glory,"
In festival they keep.
The Wise Men left their country
To journey morn by morn,
With gold and frankincense and myrrh,
Because the Lord was born:
God sent a star to guide them
And sent a dream to warn.
My life is like their journey,
Their star is like God's book;
I must be like those good Wise Men
With heavenward heart and look:
But shall I give no gifts to God?--
What precious gifts they took!
Christina Rossetti.
HOLLY
Ada M. Marzials
Highty-tighty, Paradighty,
Clothed all in green.
The King could not read it
No more could the Queen.
They sent for a Wise Man out of the East,
Who said it had horns but was not a beast.
(_Old Riddle._)
There was once upon a time a very war-like kingdom where they had
never heard of Christmas. The men spent all their days fighting, and
the women spent _their_ days in urging the warriors to further deeds
of valour.
This had gone on for a very long time, and no one had ever yet said
that he was tired of it. There was but one person in the whole kingdom
who had openly declared that war was hateful, but as she was only the
Youngest Princess nobody paid any heed to her.
Then came a time, just before our Christmas Day, when the King was
preparing a great campaign against a far-off country. He called
together his Council of War--grave old warriors, dressed completely in
armour.
"My friends," said he, "we are about to wage war on the distant
kingdoms of Zowega. Up till this time the people of that country have
been our very good friends, but as we have now conquered all our
enemies, there seems no one but our friends left to fight, and of
these the King of the Zowegians is chief.
"You will remember that his youngest son, Prince Moldo, spent some of
his boyhood at our court in order to gain instruction in feats of
arms, and that the Prince left us to travel over the world. A few
months ago his father sent word to me that the Prince had returned
home, bringing with him the news of a Pearl of Great Price, which
contained the Secret of Happiness. It is this Pearl which I have made
the excuse for war, for I have demanded it in payment for the
services that we rendered to Prince Moldo. In my message I have said
that if the Pearl, and the Secret which it contains, are not brought
and revealed to us here within the next five days, our troops will
descend upon the kingdom of Zowega and wipe it off the face of the
earth."
Loud and long cheered the Council at the speech of their King, as,
indeed, was their duty, though in their hearts of hearts they had no
wish to fight against the King of the Zowegians, who was their very
good friend. The Queen and the Princesses smiled graciously upon them,
all save the Youngest Princess, who had been Prince Moldo's
playfellow. She disgraced herself by bursting into passionate tears,
and was forthwith ordered out of the Council Hall.
At the end of five days the Council once more assembled to await the
arrival of the messenger with the answer from the King of Zowega.
The day was bright and cold, and there was snow on the ground. The
King and Queen were wrapped in thick fur cloaks. The Princesses were
all assembled, too, even the Youngest, who was dressed in ermine and
looked as pale as death.
It was Christmas Eve, but there were no Christmas trees preparing and
no presents. No one was thinking of hanging his stockings up. The Hall
was not decorated, neither were the churches; indeed, there were no
churches to decorate, for, as you remember, the people in this kingdom
knew nothing about Christmas.
The Council sat and waited in the big bare Hall.
At last the great doors were flung open, there was a blast of
trumpets, and the messenger appeared.
He was tall and fair, and held himself proudly. His eyes were bright
and shining and there was a smile upon his face. He was completely
dressed in bright green and the Council noted with astonishment that
he was without armour of any kind. He wore neither breastplate, shield
nor helmet; he had neither sword by his side, nor spurs on his feet.
He was bare-headed, and in his right hand he carried something green,
horny and prickly, with little red dots on it.
Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walked with firm and
steady step up the long Hall between the rows of armed warriors.
As he passed the Youngest Princess she blushed deeply, but he did not
seem to notice her.
When he reached the throne he bowed low before the King and Queen, and
laid the prickly object on the table before them.
"Your Majesty," said he in a clear, ringing voice. "From the King of
Zowega, greeting! He sends you this token. It is the symbol of the
Secret of Happiness."
The King stared, so did the Queen.
They had expected a Pearl of Great Price, accompanied by a scroll on
which was written the Secret of Happiness, and the King of Zowega had
sent them _this_!
Amid dead silence the King took the token up in his hands in order to
examine it more carefully.
He dropped it hastily, for it pricked him, and little drops of blood
were seen starting from his hand.
"Highty-tighty!" said he. "'Tis surely some kind of beast and a symbol
of war, for it pricked me right smartly. Truly the King of Zowega
deals in riddles which I for one cannot read! Take it, my dear," added
he to the Queen and pointing to the token; "perchance your quick wits
may be able to understand this mystery."
She picked up the token and examined it carefully.
It rather resembled the branch of a tree, but the leaves were thick
and resisting and edged with very sharp spikes, and there was on it a
cluster of round, bright red objects like tiny balls. But even as it
had pricked the King so did it prick her, and she dropped it hastily
into the lap of the Eldest Princess, who was sitting beside her.
"Paradighty!" exclaimed the Queen in her own language. "It is
certainly a beast. See, it has horns!" and she pointed to the spikes.
"But I certainly cannot read the riddle--if riddle it be."
Then it was passed to all the Princesses in turn, but they could not
read the token any more than could the King and Queen. At last it
reached the Youngest Princess, and, though it pricked her little hands
sorely, she took it up tenderly and kissed it.
"'Tis a token of love," said she.
The messenger turned his shining eyes full upon her.
"The Princess has read the riddle of the token aright," said he, and
he stepped forward as though to kiss her hand.
"Stay!" said the King imperiously springing to his feet. "A token of
love, forsooth! But I sent the King of Zowega a Declaration of War!
What does he mean by sending me a token of love? The Princess must
certainly be mistaken--and as for _you_," he continued, turning
fiercely to the messenger, "you shall be marched off to prison until
we have had time to consult with our Wise Men as to the real meaning
of this extraordinary token."
So there and then the messenger was marched off to spend the night in
prison, and all the Wise Men in the kingdom were bidden to appear in
the Council Chamber the very next day, especially one very old Wise
Man from the East who was reputed to be wiser than all the others put
together.
The next day, of course, was Christmas Day, but, as these people had
never heard of Christmas, there were no bells ringing, no carols were
sung, and there was neither holly, ivy nor mistletoe upon the walls.
Slowly and painfully the Wise Men began to arrive.
They were all dressed alike, in black flowing robes, and on their
heads they wore long pointed black caps covered with weird devices.
The very old Wise Man from the East wore a red pointed cap, but in all
other respects was dressed just like the others.
They assembled round a large circular table at one end of the Hall. In
the middle of the table was placed the token.
At the other end of the Hall were gathered the warriors, and above
them on a double throne sat the King and Queen with the Princesses
grouped on either side of the dais.
The Wise Men examined the token in silence.
"'Tis a curious beast," said one of them at last.
"Of a new and quite unheard-of species," said another.
"It has neither legs nor tail," said a third.
"Yet it has a number of globular red eyes," said a fourth.
"And it certainly has horns," said a fifth.
And so said they all, until it came to the turn of the very old Wise
Man from the East.
He looked long at the token.
"It has horns," said he at last, "but it is not a beast."
"Not a beast!" said they, one to the other.
"But what is it then?"
"It is a token of love," said he.
"Highty-tighty," interrupted the King. "Read us then the full meaning
of the token."
"I cannot," said the very old Wise Man; "but let the youth be brought
hither who carried it. He will be able to explain it more fully than
I."
"Paradighty!" said the Queen in her own language. "Why did we not
think of that before! Fetch him back again at once!"
So two of the warriors fetched the youth from prison, and he was soon
standing before the Assembly, with his head held as high and his eyes
as bright and shining as before.
"Read us the token!" commanded the King.
The youth bowed low. "The Princess read it aright yesterday. It is a
token of love."
"Explain yourself!" said the King. "How can a beast with horns be a
token of love?"
The youth drew himself up to his full height.
"It is not a beast," said he. "It is the branch of a holly-tree. On
this day of the year, which in my country we call Christmas Day, our
people decorate their houses with branches of this holly or holy tree
as a token of love and peace and good-will. This is the message that I
have brought to you--a message that we in our country know very well,
but which you have never heard before."
The King and the Warriors, the Wise Men, the Queen and Princesses all
listened to his words in silence.
When he had ended there was a long pause.
"And in what particular way does your message affect us?" said the
King at last.
"Thus, your Majesty," answered the youth, approaching the Youngest
Princess and taking both her hands in his, "on this day I, Prince
Moldo, would have peace and good-will between my kingdom and your
kingdom; and I would seal it for ever by taking the Youngest Princess
home with me as my bride. You, O King, recognized me not, for I have
much changed since I lived here with her for playfellow, but in all my
wanderings I found a Pearl of no greater price than this, and I would
proclaim to all the world that the Secret of Happiness is Love."
So on that very Christmas Day they were married, amid great
rejoicings, and war ceased throughout the kingdom. And on every
Christmas Day for ever after, the people of that country decorated
their houses with holly, the symbol of love and peace and good-will,
and wished each other a Merry Christmas, even as I do now to you.
THE WILLOW MAN
There once was a Willow, and he was very old,
And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;
But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,
There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.
All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow's skin
His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;
Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,
And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.
A Dame who dwelt a-near was the only one who knew
That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;
And when the Dame cut them, she said--it was her whim--
"A merry Christmas to you, Sir," _and left a bit for him_.
"Oh, Granny dear, tell us," the children cried, "where we
May find the shining mistletoe that grows upon the tree?"
At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind
To greet the willow civilly, _and leave a bit behind_.
"Who cares," said the children, "for this old Willow-man?
We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can."
With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,
For they have taken all, and _have not left a bit for him_.
Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone
But in the wintry wind, without the Willow-man did moan:
"Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe
A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow."
A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,
But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.
Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,
And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.
O children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,
From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.
Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,
"Pick thankfully and modestly, _and leave a bit behind_."
Juliana Horatia Ewing.
THE IVY GREEN
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed
To pleasure his dainty whim;
And the mouldering dust that years have made,
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.
Charles Dickens.
LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS
Amy Steedman
Of all the saints that little children love is there any to compare
with Santa Claus? The very sound of his name has magic in it, and
calls up visions of well-filled stockings, with the presents we
particularly want peeping over the top, or hanging out at the side,
too big to go into the largest sock. Besides, there is something so
mysterious and exciting about Santa Claus, for no one seems to have
ever seen him. But we picture him to ourselves as an old man with a
white beard, whose favourite way of coming into our rooms is down the
chimney, bringing gifts for the good children and punishments for the
bad.
Yet this Santa Claus, in whose name the presents come to us at
Christmas time, is a very real saint, and we can learn a great deal
about him, only we must remember that his true name is Saint
Nicholas. Perhaps the little children, who used to talk of him long
ago, found Saint Nicholas too difficult to say, and so called him
their dear Santa Claus. But we learn, as we grow older, that Nicholas
is his true name, and that he is a real person who lived long years
ago, far away in the East.
The father and mother of Nicholas were noble and very rich, but what
they wanted most of all was to have a son. They were Christians, so
they prayed to God for many years that He would give them their
hearts' desire; and when at last Nicholas was born, they were the
happiest people in the world.
They thought there was no one like their boy; and indeed, he was wiser
and better than most children, and never gave them a moment's trouble.
But alas, while he was still a child, a terrible plague swept over the
country, and his father and mother died, leaving him quite alone.
All the great riches which his father had possessed were left to
Nicholas, and among other things he inherited three bars of gold.
These golden bars were his greatest treasure, and he thought more of
them than all the other riches he possessed.
Now in the town where Nicholas lived there dwelt a nobleman with three
daughters. They had once been very rich, but great misfortunes had
overtaken the father, and now they were all so poor they had scarcely
enough to live upon.
At last a day came when there was not even bread enough to eat, and
the daughters said to their father:
"Let us go into the streets and beg, or do anything to get a little
money, that we may not starve."
But the father answered:
"Not to-night. I cannot bear to think of it. Wait at least until
to-morrow. Something may happen to save my daughters from such
disgrace."
Now, just as they were talking together, Nicholas happened to be
passing, and as the window was open he heard all that the poor father
said. It seemed terrible to think that a noble family should be so
poor and actually in want of bread, and Nicholas tried to plan how it
would be possible to help them. He knew they would be much too proud
to take money from him, so he had to think of some other way. Then he
remembered his golden bars, and that very night he took one of them
and went secretly to the nobleman's house, hoping to give the treasure
without letting the father or daughters know who brought it.
To his joy Nicholas discovered that a little window had been left
open, and by standing on tiptoe he could reach it. So he lifted the
golden bar and slipped it through the window, never waiting to hear
what became of it, in case any one should see him. (And now do you see
the reason why the visits of Santa Claus are so mysterious?)
Inside the house the poor father sat sorrowfully watching, while his
children slept. He wondered if there was any hope for them anywhere,
and he prayed earnestly that heaven would send help. Suddenly
something fell at his feet, and to his amazement and joy, he found it
was a bar of pure gold.
"My child," he cried, as he showed his eldest daughter the shining
gold, "God has heard my prayer and has sent this from heaven. Now we
shall have enough and to spare. Call your sisters that we may rejoice
together, and I will go instantly and change this treasure."
The precious golden bar was soon sold to a money-changer, who gave so
much for it that the family were able to live in comfort and have all
that they needed. And not only was there enough to live upon, but so
much was over that the father gave his eldest daughter a large dowry,
and very soon she was happily married.
When Nicholas saw how much happiness his golden bar had brought to the
poor nobleman he determined that the second daughter should have a
dowry too. So he went as before and found the little window again
open, and was able to throw in the second golden bar as he had done
the first. This time the father was dreaming happily, and did not find
the treasure until he awoke in the morning. Soon afterwards the second
daughter had her dowry and was married too.
The father now began to think that, after all, it was not usual for
golden bars to fall from heaven, and he wondered if by any chance
human hands had placed them in his room. The more he thought of it the
stranger it seemed, and he made up his mind to keep watch every night,
in case another golden bar should be sent as a portion for his
youngest daughter.
And so when Nicholas went the third time and dropped the last bar
through the little window, the father came quickly out, and before
Nicholas had time to hide, caught him by his cloak.
"O Nicholas," he cried, "is it thou who hast helped us in our need?
Why didst thou hide thyself?" And then he fell on his knees and began
to kiss the hands that had helped him so graciously.
But Nicholas bade him stand up and give thanks to God instead, warning
him to tell no one the story of the golden bars.
This was only one of the many kind acts Nicholas loved to do, and it
was no wonder that he was beloved by all who knew him.
Soon afterwards Nicholas made up his mind to enter God's service as a
priest. He longed above all things to leave the world and live as a
hermit in the desert, but God came to him in a vision and told him he
must stay in the crowded cities and do his work among the people.
Still his desire to see the deserts and the hermits who lived there
was so great that he went off on a journey to Egypt and the Holy Land.
But remembering what God had bade him do he did not stay there but
returned to his own country.
On the way home a terrific storm arose, and it seemed as if the ship
he was in must be lost. The sailors could do nothing, and great waves
dashed over the deck, filling the ship with water. But just as all had
given up hope, Nicholas knelt and prayed to God to save them, and
immediately a calm fell upon the angry sea. The winds sank to rest and
the waves ceased to lash the sides of the ship so that they sailed
smoothly on, and all danger passed.
Thus Nicholas returned home in safety, and went to live in the city of
Myra. His ways were so quiet and humble that no one knew much about
him, until it came to pass one day that the Archbishop of Myra died.
Then all the priests met to choose another archbishop, and it was made
known to them by a sign from heaven that the first man who should
enter the church next morning should be the bishop whom God had
chosen.
Now Nicholas used to spend most of his nights in prayer and always
went very early to church, so next morning just as the sun was rising
and the bells began to ring for the early mass, he was seen coming up
to the church door and was the first to enter. As he knelt down
quietly to say his prayers as usual, what was his surprise to meet a
company of priests who hailed him as their new archbishop, chosen by
God to be their leader and guide. So Nicholas was made Archbishop of
Myra to the joy of all in the city who knew and loved him.
Not long after this there was great trouble in the town of Myra, for
the harvests of that country had failed and a terrible famine swept
over the land. Nicholas, as a good bishop should, felt the suffering
of his people as if it were his own, and did all he could to help
them.
He knew that they must have corn or they would die, so he went to the
harbour where two ships lay filled with grain, and asked the captains
if they would sell him their cargo. They told the bishop they would
willingly do so, but it was already sold to merchants of another
country and they dared not sell it over again.
"Take no thought of that," said Nicholas, "only sell me some of thy
corn for my starving people, and I promise thee that there shall be
nought wanting when thou shalt arrive at thy journey's end."
The captains believed in the bishop's promise and gave him as much
corn as he asked. And behold! when they came to deliver their cargo to
the owners, there was not a bag lacking.
There are many stories told about the good bishop. Like his Master, he
ever went about doing good; and when he died, there were a great many
legends told about him, for the people loved to believe that their
bishop still cared for them and would come to their aid. We do not
know if all these legends are true, but they show how much Saint
Nicholas was loved and honoured even after his death, and how every
one believed in his power to help them.
Here is one of the stories which all children who love Saint Nicholas
will like to hear.
There was once a nobleman who had no children and who longed for a son
above everything else in the world. Night and day he prayed to Saint
Nicholas that he would grant him his request, and at last a son was
born. He was a beautiful child, and the father was so delighted and so
grateful to the saint who had listened to his prayers that, every year
on the child's birthday, he made a great feast in honour of Saint
Nicholas and a grand service was held in the church.
Now the Evil One grew angry each year when this happened, for it made
many people go to church and honour the good saint, neither of which
things pleased the Evil One at all. So each year he tried to think of
some plan that would put an end to these rejoicings, and he decided
at last that if only he could do some evil to the child the parents
would blame Saint Nicholas and all would be well.
It happened just then to be the boy's sixth birthday and a greater
feast than ever was being held. It was late in the afternoon, and the
gardener and porter and all the servants were away keeping holiday,
too. So no one noticed a curious-looking pilgrim who came and sat
close to the great iron gates which led into the courtyard. He had on
the ordinary robe of a poor pilgrim, but the hood was drawn so far
over his face that nothing but a dark shadow could be seen inside. And
indeed that was as well, for this pilgrim was a demon in disguise, and
his wicked, black face would have frightened any one who saw it. He
could not enter the courtyard for the great gates were always kept
locked, and, as you know, the porter was away that day, feasting with
all the other servants.
But, before very long, the little boy grew weary of his birthday
feast, and, having had all he wanted he begged to be allowed to go to
play in the garden. His parents knew that the gardener always looked
after him there, so they told him he might go. They forgot that the
gardener was not there just then.
The child played happily alone for some time and then wandered into
the courtyard, and looking out of the gate saw a poor pilgrim resting
there.
"What are you doing here?" asked the child, "and why do you sit so
still?"
"I am a poor pilgrim," answered the demon, trying to make his harsh
voice sound as gentle as possible, "and I have come all the way from
Rome. I am resting here because I am so weary and footsore and have
had nothing to eat all day."
"I will let you in, and take you to my father," said the child; "this
is my birthday, and no one must go hungry to-day."
But the demon pretended he was too weak to walk, and begged the boy to
bring some food out to him.
Then the child ran back to the banquet hall in a great hurry and said
to his father:
"O father, there is a poor pilgrim from Rome sitting outside our gate,
and he is so hungry, may I take him some of my birthday feast?"
The father was very pleased to think that his little son should care
for the poor and wish to be kind, so he willingly gave his permission
and told one of the servants to give the child all that he wanted.
Then as the demon sat eating the good things he began to question the
boy and tried to find out all that he could about him.
"Do you often play in the garden?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," said the child. "I play there whenever I may, for in the
midst of the lawn there is a beautiful fountain, and the gardener
makes me boats to sail on the water."
"Will he make you one to-day?" asked the demon quickly.
"He is not here to-day," answered the child, "for this is a holiday
for every one and I am quite alone."
Then the demon rose to his feet slowly and said he felt so much better
after the good food that he thought he could walk a little and would
like very much to come in and see the beautiful garden and the
fountain he had heard about.
So the child climbed up and with great difficulty drew back the bolts.
The great gates swung open and the demon walked in.
As they went along together towards the fountain the child held out
his little hand to lead the pilgrim, but even the demon shrunk from
touching anything so pure and innocent, and folded his arms under his
robe, so that the child could only hold by a fold of his cloak.
"What strange kind of feet you have," said the child as they walked
along; "they look as if they belonged to an animal."
"Yes, they are curious," said the demon, "but it is just the way they
are made."
Then the child began to notice the demon's hands, which were even more
curious than his feet, and just like paws of a bear. But he was too
courteous to say anything about them, when he had already mentioned
the feet.
Just then they came to the fountain, and with a sudden movement the
demon threw back his hood and showed his dreadful face. And before
the child could scream he was seized by those hairy hands and thrown
into the water.
But just at that moment the gardener was returning to his work and saw
from a distance what had happened. He ran as fast as he could, but he
only got to the fountain in time to see the demon vanish, while the
child's body was floating on the water. Very quickly he drew him out,
and carried him, all dripping wet, up to the castle, where they tried
to bring him back to life. But, alas! it all seemed of no use; he
neither moved nor breathed, and the day that had begun with such
rejoicing, ended in the bitterest woe. The poor parents were
heart-broken, but they did not quite lose hope and prayed earnestly to
Saint Nicholas who had given them the child, that he would restore
their boy to them again.
As they prayed by the side of the little bed where the body of the
child lay, they thought something moved, and to their joy and surprise
the boy opened his eyes and sat up, and in a short time was as well
as ever.
They asked him eagerly what had happened, and he told them all about
the pilgrim with the queer feet and hands, who had gone with him to
the fountain and had then thrown back his hood and shown his terrible
face. After that he could remember nothing until he found himself in a
beautiful garden, where the loveliest flowers grew. There were lilies
like white stars, and roses far more beautiful than any he had ever
seen in his own garden, and the leaves of the trees shone like silver
and gold. It was all so beautiful that for a while he forgot his home,
and when he did remember and tried to find his way back, he grew
bewildered and did not know in what direction to turn. As he was
looking about, an old man came down the garden path and smiled so
kindly upon him that he trusted him at once. This old man was dressed
in the robes of a bishop, and had a long white beard and the sweetest
old face the child had ever seen.
"Art thou searching for the way home?" the old man asked. "Dost thou
wish to leave this beautiful garden and go back to thy father and
mother?"
"I want to go home," said the child, with a sob in his voice, "but I
cannot find the way, and I am, oh, so tired of searching for it."
Then the old man stooped down and lifted him in his arms, and the
child laid his head on the old man's shoulder, and, weary with his
wandering, fell fast asleep and remembered nothing more till he woke
up in his own little bed.
Then the parents knew that Saint Nicholas had heard their prayers and
had gone to fetch the child from the Heavenly Garden and brought him
back to them.
So they were more grateful to the good saint than ever, and they loved
and honoured him even more than they had done before; which was all
the reward the demon got for his wicked doings.
That is one of the many stories told after the death of Saint
Nicholas, and it ever helped and comforted his people to think that,
though they could no longer see him he would love and protect them
still.
Young maidens in need of help remembered the story of the golden bars
and felt sure the good saint would not let them want. Sailors tossing
on the stormy waves thought of that storm which had sunk to rest at
the prayer of Saint Nicholas. Poor prisoners with no one to take their
part were comforted by the thought of those other prisoners whom he
had saved. And little children perhaps have remembered him most of
all, for when the happy Christmas time draws near, who is so much in
their thoughts as Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as they call him?
Perhaps they are a little inclined to think of him as some good
magician who comes to fill their stockings with gifts, but they should
never forget that he was the kind bishop who, in olden days, loved to
make the little ones happy. There are some who think that even now he
watches over and protects little children, and for that reason he is
called their patron saint.
CHRISTMAS BELLS
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
A NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS
Anna R. Annan
Not very long ago, and not far from here, lived a little boy named
Bobby Morgan. Now I must tell at once how Bobby looked, else how will
you know him if you meet him in the street? Blue-eyed was Rob, and
fair-haired, and pug-nosed--just the sweetest trifle, his mother said.
Well, the day before Christmas, Rob thought it would be a fine thing
to run down Main Street and see what was going on. After dinner his
mother put on his fur cap and bright scarf, and filled his pockets
with crackers and cookies. She told him to be very polite to Santa
Claus if he should happen to meet him.
Off he trotted, merry as a cricket, with now a skip and now a slide.
At every corner he held his breath, half expecting to run into Santa
himself. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and he soon found
himself before the gay windows of a toy shop.
There he saw a spring hobby-horse, as large as a Shetland pony, all
saddled and bridled, too,--lacking nothing but a rider. Rob pressed
his nose against the glass, and tried to imagine the feelings of a boy
in that saddle. He must have stood there all day, had not a ragged
little fellow pulled his coat. "Wouldn't you jist like that popgun?"
he piped.
"Catch me looking at popguns!" said Rob shortly. But when he saw how
tattered the boy's jacket was he said more softly, "P'r'raps you'd
like a cooky."
"Try me wunst!" said the shrill little voice.
There was a queer lump in Rob's throat as he emptied one pocket of its
cakes and thrust them into the dirty, eager hands. Then he marched
down the street without so much as glancing at that glorious steed
again.
Brighter and brighter grew the windows, more and more full of toys. At
last our boy stood, with open eyes and mouth, before a great store
lighted from top to bottom, for it was growing dark. Rob came near
taking off his cap and saying, "How do you do, sir?"
To whom, you ask. Why, to an image of Santa Claus, the size of life,
holding a Christmas tree filled with wonderful fruit.
Soon a happy thought struck Rob. "Surely this must be Santa Claus's
own store, where he comes to fill his basket with toys! What if I were
to hide there and wait for him?"
As I said, he was a brave little chap, and he walked straight into the
store with the stream of big people. Everybody was busy. No one had
time to look at our mite of a Rob. He tried in vain to find a quiet
corner, till he caught sight of some winding stairs that led up to the
next story. He crept up, scarcely daring to breathe.
What a fairyland! Toys everywhere! Oceans of toys! Nothing but toys,
excepting one happy little boy. Think of fifty great rocking-horses in
a pile; of whole flocks of woolly sheep and curly dogs with the real
bark in them; stacks of drums; regiments of soldiers armed to the
teeth; companies of firemen drawing their hose carts; no end of
wheelbarrows and velocipedes!
Rob screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as a gentle hint that they had
better not play him any tricks, and then stared with might and main.
Suddenly Rob thought he heard a footstep on the stairs. Fearing to be
caught, he hid behind a baby-wagon. No one came, however, and as he
felt rather hungry, he took out the remaining cakes and had a fine
supper.
Why didn't Santa Claus come?
Rob was really getting sleepy. He stretched out his tired legs, and,
turning one of the woolly sheep on its side, pillowed his curly head
upon it. It was so nice to lie there, looking up at the ceiling hung
with toys, and with the faint hum of voices in his ears. The blue eyes
grew more and more heavy. Rob was fast asleep.
Midnight! The bells rang loud and clear, as if they had great news to
tell the world. What noise is that besides the bells? And look, oh,
look! Who is that striding up the room with a great basket on his
back? He has stolen his coat from a polar bear, and his cap, too, I
declare! His boots are of red leather and reach to his knees. His coat
and cap are trimmed with wreaths of holly, bright with scarlet
berries.
Good sir, let us see your face--why! that is the best part of him,--so
round, and so ruddy, such twinkling eyes, and such a merry look about
those dimples! But see his long white beard; can he be old?
Oh, very, very old. Over nineteen hundred years. Is that not a long
life, little ones? But he has a young heart, this dear old man, and a
kind one. Can you guess his name? "Hurrah for Santa Claus!" Right--the
very one.
He put his basket down near Robby, and with his back turned to him
shook the snow from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on Rob's
face and roused him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw the white
figure, but did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should vanish.
But bless his big heart! He had no idea of vanishing till his night's
work was done. He took a large book from his pocket, opened to the
first page, and looked at it very closely.
"Tommy Turner," was written at the top, and just below was a little
map--yes, there was Tommy's heart mapped out like a country. Part of
the land was marked good, part of it bad. Here and there were little
flags to point out places where battles had been fought during the
year. Some of them were black and some white; wherever a good feeling
had won the fight there was a white one.
"Tommy Turner," said Santa Claus aloud, "six white flags, three black
ones. That leaves only three presents for Tommy; but we must see what
can be done for him."
So he bustled among the toys, and soon had a ball, a horse, and a
Noah's ark tied up in a parcel, which he tossed into the basket.
Name after name was read off, some of them belonging to Rob's
playmates, and you may be sure that the little boy listened with his
heart in his mouth.
"Robby Morgan!" said Santa Claus.
In his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did
not notice it.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven"--Rob's breath came very
short--"whites!"
He almost clapped his hands.
"One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder what that little chap would
like--here's a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he
hadn't run away from school that day and then told a lie about it I'd
give him a rocking-horse."
Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.
"But, bless him! he's a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do
better next year if I give him the horse."
That was too much for our boy. With a "Hurrah!" he jumped up and
turned a somersault right at Santa Claus's feet.
"Stars and stripes!" cried Santa. "What's this?"
"Come along, I'll show you the one!" cried Rob.
Santa Claus allowed himself to be led off to the pile of horses. You
may believe that Rob's sharp eyes soon picked out the one with the
longest tail and the thickest mane.
"Well, he beats all the boys that ever I saw! What shall I do with the
little spy?"
"Oh, dear Santa Claus," cried Robby, hugging the red boots, "do just
take me along with you. I'll stick tight when you slide down the
chimney."
"Yes, I guess you will stick tight--in the chimney, my little man."
"I mean to your back," half sobbed Rob.
Santa Claus can't bear to see little folks in trouble, so he took the
boy into his arms, and asked where he wanted to go.
"To Tommy Turner's, and, oh, you know, that boy in the awful old
jacket that likes popguns," was the breathless reply.
Of course he knew him, for he knows every boy and girl in Christendom;
so a popgun was added to the medley of toys. Santa Claus then strapped
Rob and the basket on his back. He next crept through an open window
to a ladder he had placed there, down which he ran as nimbly as a
squirrel. The reindeer before the sledge were in a hurry to be off,
and tinkled their silver bells right merrily. An instant more and they
were snugly tucked up in the white robes; an instant more and they
were flying like the wind over the snow.
Ah! Tommy's home. Santa Claus sprang out, placed the light ladder
against the house, and before Rob could wink a good fair wink they
were on the roof, making for the chimney. Whether it swallowed him, or
he swallowed it, is still a puzzle to Robby.
Tommy lay sleeping in his little bed and dreaming of a merry
Christmas. His rosy mouth was puckered into something between a
whistle and a smile. Rob longed to give him a friendly punch, but
Santa Claus shook his head. They filled his stocking and hurried away,
for empty little stockings the world over were waiting for that
generous hand.
On they sped again, never stopping until they came to a wretched
little hovel. A black pipe instead of a chimney was sticking through
the roof.
Rob thought, "Now I guess he'll have to give it up." But no, he softly
pushed the door open and stepped in.
On a ragged cot lay the urchin to whom Robby had given the cookies.
One of them, half eaten, was still clutched in his hand. Santa Claus
gently opened the other little fist and put the popgun into it.
"Give him my drum," whispered Rob, and Santa Claus, without a word,
placed it near the rumpled head.
How swiftly they flew under the bright stars! How sweetly rang the
bells!
When Santa Claus reined up at Robby's door he found his little comrade
fast asleep. He laid him tenderly in his crib, and drew off a
stocking, which he filled with the smaller toys. The rocking-horse he
placed close to the crib, that Rob might mount him on Christmas
morning.
A kiss, and he was gone.
P.S.--Rob's mother says it was all a dream, but he declares that "It's
true as Fourth of July!" I prefer to take his word for it.
A CHILD'S THOUGHTS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS
What do you think my grandmother said,
Telling Christmas stories to me
To-night, when I went and coaxed and coaxed
With my head and arms upon her knee?
She thinks--she really told me so--
That good Mr. Santa Claus, long ago,
Was as old and grey as he is to-day,
Going around with his loaded sleigh.
She thinks he's driven through frost and snow
For a hundred, yes, a thousand times or so,
With jingling bells and a bag of toys--
Ho, ho! for good girls and boys,
With a carol gay,
Crying, "Clear the way,
For a rollicking, merry Christmas day!"
Grandmother knows almost everything--
All that I ask her she can tell;
Rivers and towns in geography,
And the hardest words she can always spell.
But the wisest ones, sometimes, they say,
Mistake--and even grandmother may.
If Santa Claus never had been a boy
How would he always know so well
What all the boys are longing for
On Christmas day? Can grandmother tell?
Why does he take the shiny rings,
The baby houses, the dolls with curls,
The little lockets and other such things
Never to boys, but always to girls?
Why does he take the skates and all
The bats and balls, and arrows and bows,
And trumpets and drums, and guns--hurrah!
To the boys? I wonder if grandmother knows?
But there's one thing that doesn't seem right--
If Santa Claus was a boy at play
And hung up his stocking on Christmas night,
Who filled it for him on Christmas day?
Sydney Dayre.
CHARITY IN A COTTAGE
Jean Ingelow
The charity of the rich is much to be commended; but how beautiful is
the charity of the poor!
Call to mind the coldest day you ever experienced. Think of the bitter
wind and driving snow; think how you shook and shivered--how the sharp
white particles were driven up against your face--how, within doors,
the carpets were lifted like billows along the floors, the wind howled
and moaned in the chimneys, windows cracked, doors rattled, and every
now and then heavy lumps of snow came thundering down with a dull
weight from the roof.
Now hear my story.
In one of the broad, open plains of Lincolnshire, there is a long
reedy sheet of water, a favourite resort of wild ducks. At its
northern extremity stand two mud cottages, old, and out of repair.
One bitter, bitter night, when the snow lay three feet deep on the
ground, and a cutting east wind was driving it about, and whistling in
the dry frozen reeds by the water's edge, and swinging the bare willow
trees till their branches swept the ice, an old woman sat spinning in
one of these cottages before a moderately cheerful fire. Her kettle
was singing on the coals, she had a reed candle, or home-made
rushlight, on her table, but the full moon shone in, and was the
brighter light of the two. These two cottages were far from any road,
or any other habitation; the old woman was, therefore, surprised, in
an old northern song, by a sudden knock at the door.
It was loud and impatient, not like the knock of her neighbours in the
other cottage; but the door was bolted, and the old woman rose, and
shuffling to the window, looked out and saw a shivering figure,
apparently that of a youth.
"Trampers!" said the old woman, sententiously, "tramping folks be not
wanted here." So saying she went back to the fire without deigning to
answer the door.
The youth upon this tried the door, and called to her to beg
admittance. She heard him rap the snow from his shoes against her
lintel, and again knock as if he thought she was deaf, and he should
surely gain admittance if he could make her hear.
The old woman, surprised at his audacity, went to the casement and
with all the pride of possession, opened it and inquired his business.
"Good woman," the stranger began, "I only want a seat at your fire."
"Nay," said the old woman, giving effect to her words by her uncouth
dialect, "thou'll get no shelter here; I've nought to give to
beggars--a dirty, wet critter," she continued wrathfully, slamming to
the window. "It's a wonder where he found any water, too, seeing it
freeze so hard a body can get none for the kettle, saving what's
broken up with a hatchet."
The stranger turned very hastily from her door and waded through the
deep snow towards the other cottage. The bitter wind helped to drive
him towards it. It looked no less poor than the first; and when he had
tried the door and found it bolted and fast, his heart sank within
him. His hand was so numbed with cold that he had made scarcely any
noise; he tried again.
A rush candle was burning within and a matronly looking woman sat
before the fire. She held an infant in her arms and had dropped
asleep; but his third knock aroused her, and wrapping her apron round
the child, she opened the door a very little way, and demanded what he
wanted.
"Good woman," the youth began, "I have had the misfortune to fall in
the water this bitter night, and I am so numbed I can scarcely walk."
The woman gave him a sudden earnest look and then sighed.
"Come in," she said; "thou art so nigh the size of my Jem, I thought
at first it was him come home from sea."
The youth stepped across the threshold, trembling with cold and wet;
and no wonder, for his clothes were completely encased in wet mud,
and the water dripped from them with every step he took on the sanded
floor.
"Thou art in a sorry plight," said the woman, "and it be two miles to
the nighest house; come and kneel down afore the fire; thy teeth
chatter so pitifully I can scarce bear to hear them."
She looked at him more attentively and saw that he was a mere boy, not
more than sixteen years of age. Her motherly heart was touched for
him. "Art hungry?" she asked, turning to the table. "Thou art wet to
the skin. What hast been doing?"
"Shooting wild ducks," said the boy.
"Oh," said the hostess, "thou art one of the keeper's boys, then, I
reckon?"
He followed the direction of her eyes, and saw two portions of bread
set upon the table, with a small piece of bacon on each.
"My master be very late," she observed, for charity did not make her
use elegant language, and by her master she meant her husband; "but
thou art welcome to my bit and sup, for I was waiting for him. Maybe
it will put a little warmth in thee to eat and drink." So saying, she
placed before him her own share of the supper.
"Thank you," said the boy; "but I am so wet I am making quite a pool
before your fire with the drippings from my clothes."
"Aye, they are wet indeed," said the woman, and rising again she went
to an old box, in which she began to search, and presently came to the
fire with a perfectly clean check shirt in her hand and a tolerably
good suit of clothes.
"There," said she, showing them with no small pride, "these be my
master's Sunday clothes, and if thou wilt be very careful of them I'll
let thee wear them till thine be dry." She then explained that she was
going to put her "bairn" to bed, and proceeded up a ladder into the
room above, leaving the boy to array himself in these respectable
garments.
When she had come down her guest had dressed himself in the labourer's
clothes; he had had time to warm himself, and he was eating and
drinking with hungry relish. He had thrown his muddy clothes in a heap
upon the floor. As she looked at him she said:
"Ah, lad, lad, I doubt that head been under water: thy poor mother
would have been sorely frightened if she could have seen thee a while
ago."
"Yes," said the boy; and in imagination the cottage dame saw this same
mother, a careworn, hard-working creature like herself; while the
youthful guest saw in imagination a beautiful and courtly lady; and
both saw the same love, the same anxiety, the same terror, at sight of
a lonely boy struggling in the moonlight through breaking ice, with no
one to help him, catching at the frozen reeds, and then creeping up,
shivering and benumbed, to a cottage door.
But, even as she stooped, the woman forgot her imagination, for she
had taken a waistcoat into her hands, such as had never passed between
them before; a gold pencil-case dropped from the pocket; and on the
floor amidst a heap of mud that covered the outer garments, lay a
white shirt sleeve, so white, indeed, and so fine, that she thought it
could hardly be worn by a squire!
She glanced from the clothes to the owner. He had thrown down his
cap, and his fair curly hair and broad forehead convinced her that he
was of gentle birth; but while she hesitated to sit down, he placed a
chair for her, and said with boyish frankness:
"I say, what a lonely place this is! If you had not let me in, the
water would have frozen me before I reached home. Catch me
duck-shooting again by myself!"
"It's very cold sport that, sir," said the woman.
The young gentleman assented most readily, and asked if he might stir
the fire.
"And welcome, sir," said the woman.
She felt a curiosity to know who he was, and he partly satisfied her
by remarking that he was staying at Deen Hall, a house about five
miles off, adding that in the morning he had broken a hole in the ice
very near the decoy, but it iced over so fast, that in the dusk he had
missed it, and fallen in, for it would not bear him. He had made some
landmarks, and taken every proper precaution, but he supposed the
sport had excited him so much that in the moonlight he had passed them
by.
He then told her of his attempt to get shelter in the other cottage.
"Sir," said the woman, "if you had said you were a gentleman----"
The boy laughed. "I don't think I knew it, my good woman," he replied,
"my senses were so benumbed; for I was some time struggling at the
water's edge among the broken ice, and then I believe I was nearly an
hour creeping up to you
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