Christmas gold, p.415
Christmas Gold, page 415
He walked along, tottering under the weight of a huge pack full of presents. He extended his small arms towards the audience most affectionately, and you could see that his antiquated coat-sleeves were bristling with toys and glistening with ornaments. His eyes twinkled with fun, and his mouth, which seemed nearly worn out with laughing, grew bigger every minute.
It took the dear old gentleman some time to clear his throat; but when he had found his voice, which at first was as fine as a knitting-needle, and all of a tremble, he made
THE SPEECH OF SANTA CLAUS.
"How do, my darlings? How do, all round? Bless your little hearts, how do you all do? Did they tell ye Santa wasn't a-comin', my dears? Did your grandpas and grandmas say, 'Humph! there isn't any such a person.' My love to the good old people. I know they mean all right; but tell them they'll have to give it up now!"
(Here Santa Claus made a low bow. Everybody laughed and clapped; but Prudy whispered, "O, don't he look old all over? What has he done with his teeth? O, dear, has anybody pulled 'em out?")
"Yes, my dears," continued the old gentleman, encouraged by the applause,—"yes, my dears, here I am, as jolly as ever! But bless your sweet little hearts, I've had a terrible time getting here! The wind has been blowin' me up as fierce as you please, and I've been shook round as if I wasn't of more account than a kernel of corn in a popper!
"O, O, I've been ducked up to the chin in some awful deep snow-drifts, up there by the North Pole! This is the very first time the storms have come so heavy as to cover over the end of the North Pole! But this year they had to dig three days before they could find it. O, ho!
"I was a-wanderin' round all last night; a real shivery night, too! Got so broke up, there's nothing left of me but small pieces. O, hum!
"Such a time as I had in some of those chimneys, you haven't any idee! Why, if you'll believe me, over there in Iceland somebody forgot to clear out the chimney, and there I stuck fast, like a fish-bone in your throat; couldn't be picked out, couldn't be swallowed!
"The funniest time that was! How I laughed! And then the children's mother woke up, and, 'O, dear,' said she; 'hear the wind sigh down the chimney!' 'Only me,' says I; 'and I've caught you napping this time!' She helped me out, and when I had caught my breath, I climbed out the window; but, deary me, I shouldn't wonder if that very woman went to sleep again, and thought it was all a dream! Heigh-ho! that's the way they always treat poor Santa Claus nowadays."
(Here the children laughed, and Susy said, "I guess he must have bumped his nose against that chimney: see what a hump!")
"O, O, don't you make sport of me, children! My nose is big, to be sure, but I'm going to keep it and make the best of it! If you love Santa as he loves you, you wouldn't mind the looks. I was going to change my coat and dickey; but then, thinks I, I'll come just as I am! I patted myself on the shoulder, and says I, 'Santa Claus, don't you fret if you are growin' old! You may look a little dried up, but your heart isn't wrinkled; O no!' You see father Adam and me was very near of an age, but somehow I never growed up! I always thought big folks did very well in their place; but for my part, give me the children. Hurrah for the children!"
(Great clapping and laughing.)
"I tell you, darlings, I haven't forgot a single one of you. My pockets are running over. I've been preparing presents for you ever since last fall, when the birds broke up housekeeping.
"Here's a tippet for the Prudy girl, and she may have it for nothing; and they are cheaper 'n that, if you take 'em by the quantity.
"I'm a walkin' book-case. Why, I've brought stories and histories enough to set up a store! I've got more nuts than you can shake a hammer at; but I think there's more bark to 'em than there is bite. O, O, I find I can't crack 'em with my teeth, as I used to a hundred years ago!
"But my dear, sweet, cunning little hearers, I must be a-goin'. Queen Victoria, said she to me, said she, 'Now, Santa, my love, do you hurry back to fill my children's stockings before the clock strikes twelve.' Queen Vic is an excellent woman, and is left a poor widow; so I can't disappoint her, poor soul!
"I must be a-goin'! Would like to hug and kiss you all round, but can't stop. (Kisses his hand and bows.) A Merry Christmas to you all, and a Happy New Year."
So saying, Santa Claus suddenly disappeared at the hall door, dropping his heavy pack upon the table.
In another minute the lively old gentleman was in the front parlor without any mask, and of course it was nobody but cousin Percy "with his face off."
Then they all fell to work sorting out presents. Prudy seized her fur tippet, and put it on at once.
"O, how pretty I look," said she; "just like a little cat! Ain't I cunning?"
But nobody could pause to attend to Prudy, though she chatted very fast, without commas or periods, and held up to view a large wax doll which "would be alive if it could talk." They all had gifts as well as Prudy, and wished to talk rather than to listen. They asked questions without waiting for answers, and did not mind interrupting one another, and talking all at once, like a party of school children.
All this was hardly polite, it is true; but people are sometimes surprised out of their good manners on Christmas evenings, and must be forgiven for it, as such a good time happens but once a year.
Percy broke in with an old song, and went through with a whole stanza of it, although no one listened to a word:—
"Good luck unto old Christmas,
And long life let us sing,
For he doeth more good unto the poor
Than many a crownéd king."
"My beautiful books!" cried aunt Madge; "Russia morocco."
"My writing-desk,—has any one looked at it?" said Mrs. Parlin; "rose-wood, inlaid with brass."
"My skates!" broke in Susy, at the top of her voice.
"Hush!" screamed cousin Percy; "won't anybody please notice my drum? If you won't look, then look out for a drum in each ear!"
And as nobody would look or pay the slightest attention, they all had to hear "Dixie" pounded out in true martial style, till they held on to their ears.
"Rattlety bang!" went the drum. "Tweet, tweet," whistled the little musical instruments which the children were blowing.
"Have pity on us!" cried aunt Madge; "I am bewildered; my head is floating like a Chinese garden."
"Order!" shouted Mr. Parlin, laughing.
"O, yes, sir," said Percy, seizing Susy and whirling her round. "Children, why don't you try to preserve order? My nerves are strung up like violin-strings! I've got a pound of headache to every ounce of brains. Susy Parlin, do try to keep still!"
"Thee needn't pretend it is all Susan," said grandma Read, smiling. "Thee and little Prudence are the noisiest of the whole!"
In fact, they raised such a din, that after a while poor grandma Read smoothed the Quaker cap over her smiling face, and stole off into her own chamber, where she could "settle down into quietness." Much noise always confused grandma Read.
But in a very few moments, when the excitement began to die out, there was a season of overwhelming gratitude. Everybody had to thank everybody else; and Mr. Parlin, who had a beautiful dressing-gown to be grateful for, nevertheless found time to tell Susy, over and over again, how delighted he was with her book-mark, made, by her own fingers, of three wide strips of velvet ribbon; on the ends of which were fastened a cross, a star, and an anchor, of card-board.
"Papa, one ribbon is to keep your place in the Old Testament," said Susy; "one is to stay in the middle, at the births and marriages; and the other one is for our chapter in the New Testament, you know."
"I think my lamp-mat is very pretty," said aunt Madge, kissing Susy; "every bit as pretty as if Prudy hadn't 'been and told.'"
Prudy had bought a shawl-pin for her mother, a fierce little wooden soldier for aunt Madge, and something for everybody else but Susy. Not that she forgot Susy. O, no! but one's money does not always hold out, even at Christmas time.
"Why," said Mr. Parlin, "what is this sticking fast to the sole of my new slipper? Molasses candy, I do believe."
"Yes sir; that's for Susy," cried Prudy, suddenly remembering how she had tucked it in at the last moment, when she could not stop to find any wrapping-paper. "It isn't so big as it was, but it's the biggest piece I had in this world. I saved it last night. Susy likes 'lasses candy, and I couldn't think of nothin' else."
It was a wonder that Prudy's candy had not spoiled some of the nice presents.
Susy received several pretty things; and though she did not talk quite so much as Prudy, she was just as happy. For one thing, she had what she had not dreamed was possible for a little girl—a bottle of otto of rose; "just like a young lady."
This was a real delight to Susy: but Prudy, sniffing at it, said, coolly, "O, ho! it smells 's if it didn't cost more'n a cent! 'Tisn't half so sweet as pep'mint!"
Before Dotty could be put to bed, she had contrived to break several toys, all of which happened to be Susy's—a sugar temple, a glass pitcher, and a small vase.
This was an evening long to be remembered; but the most remarkable event of all was to come.
"Susy, my daughter," said Mr. Parlin, "have you been wondering why you don't see a present from me?"
Susy blushed. She had certainly expected something handsome this year from her father.
"I haven't forgotten you, my dear; but the present I have chosen wouldn't sit very well on the shoulders of such a little fellow as Santa Claus."
Percy laughed. "Wouldn't it have been a load, uncle?"
"Hush!" whispered aunt Madge; "she isn't to know till morning."
"But, papa," said Susy, her eyes shining with excitement, "why couldn't you bring it in here now?"
"It is better off out of doors. Indeed, to tell the truth, my child, it is hardly suitable for the parlor."
"Now, Miss Susy," said Percy, measuring off his words on the tips of his fingers, "I'm authorized to tell you it's something you mustn't take in your lap, mustn't hang on a nail; if you do, you'll lose it. I'm sure 'twill please you, Susy, because it's a mute, and can't speak. You—"
"O, hush talking about dumb people! I shouldn't think you'd make sport of Freddy Jackson! If you was a little deaf-and-dumber than you are now, I'd like you better!
"O, dear, dear!" cried she, dancing about the room; "what can it be? I can't wait!"
"Only think; all night before I'll know," thought she, as she touched her pillow. "O, Prudy, to-morrow morning! Only think of to-morrow morning I All my other presents are just nothing at all. Anything is so much nicer when you don't know what it is!"
Chapter IV.
Susy's Wings
Table of Contents
Susy awoke next morning very much surprised to find the sun so high. Prudy was lying beside her, talking to herself.
"I don't feel very well," said the child; "but I'm pleasant; I mean to be good all day."
"Why didn't you speak to me?" cried Susy, springing out of bed, "when you knew how I couldn't wait to see my present?"
"I would have woke you up, Susy, but I ain't well; I'm sick in my knees."
And Prudy limped about the room to show her sister how lame she was. But Susy was in too great a hurry to pay much attention to her, or to help her dress.
"Good morning, papa!" she exclaimed, the moment she entered the parlor; "now may I see the present?"
"Do you suppose you could wait till after breakfast, Susy?"
Aunt Madge smiled as she looked at the little eager face.
"I see you are going on with your lessons," said she.
"What lessons, auntie? Why, it is the holidays!"
"Lessons in patience, my dear. Isn't something always happening which you have to be patient about?"
Susy thought of Prudy's habit of disclosing secrets, Dotty's trying way of destroying playthings; and now this long delay about her present. She began to think there were a great many vexations in the world, and that she bore them remarkably well for such a little girl.
"Yes, thee must let patience have her perfect work, Susan," said grandma Read, after the "silent blessing" had been asked at the table.
"Mayn't I go, too?" said Prudy, when she saw her father, her auntie, and Susy leaving the house just after breakfast.
And she went, as a matter of course; but the pavements were a little slippery from sleet; and Prudy, who was never a famous walker, had as much as she could do, even with the help of her father's hand, to keep from falling.
"Why, Prudy," said Mr. Parlin, "what ails you this morning? You limp so much that I believe you need crutches."
"I'm sick in my knee," replied Prudy, delighted to see that her lameness was observed. "If you had my knee, and it hurt, you'd know how it feels!"
By this time they had reached a livery stable; and, to Susy's surprise, her father stopped short, and said to a man who stood by the door, "Mr. Hill, my daughter has come to look at her pony."
Prudy was in a great fright at sight of so many horses, and needed all her auntie's attention; but Susy had no fear, and Mr. Parlin led her along to a stall where stood a beautiful black pony, as gentle-looking as a Newfoundland dog.
"How do you like him, Susy? Stroke his face, and talk to him."
"But, O, papa, you don't mean, you can't mean, he's my very own! A whole pony all to myself!"
"See what you think of his saddle, miss," said Mr. Hill, laughing at Susy's eagerness; and he led pony out, and threw over his back a handsome side-saddle.
"Why, it seems as if I could just jump on without anybody touching me," cried Susy.
"Not afraid a bit?" said Mr. Hill, as Mr. Parlin seated Susy in the saddle, and gave her the reins. "Ponies throw people, sometimes."
"O, but my papa would never give me a bad pony," answered Susy, with perfect confidence.
Mr. Hill laughed again. He was a rough man; but he thought a child's faith in a parent was a beautiful thing.
He did not know many passages of Scripture, but thought he had read somewhere, "And if he ask bread, will he give him a stone?" No; fathers are glad to give their "best gifts," and the little ones trust them.
"It's like sailing in a boat," cried Susy, riding back and forth about the yard in great excitement; "why, it's just as easy as the swing in the oilnut-tree at grandma Parlin's! O, papa, to think I should forget to thank you!"
But perhaps Mr. Parlin regarded glowing cheeks and shining eyes as the very best of thanks.
Prudy thought the pony a beautiful "baby horse;" wanted to ride, and didn't want to; was afraid, and wasn't afraid, and, as her father said, "had as many minds as some politicians who are said to 'stand on the fence.'" By and by, after some coaxing, the timid little thing consented to sit behind Susy, and cling round her waist, if her father would walk beside her to make sure she didn't fall off. In this way they went home.
"I like to sit so I can hug my sister, while she drives the horse," said Prudy; "besides, it hurts me to walk."
Mr. Parlin and aunt Madge smiled at the child's speeches, but gave no more heed to this lameness of which she complained, than they did to any of the rest of her little freaks.
Prudy liked to be pitied for every small hurt; and when Susy had a sore throat, and wore a compress, she looked upon her with envy, and felt it almost as a personal slight that her throat could not be wrapped in a compress too.
On their way they met "lame Jessie," a little girl with crooked spine and very high shoulders, who hobbled along on crutches.
"She's lamer than me," said Prudy. "Good morning, Jessie."
"I know what I've thought of," said Susy, who could talk of nothing which was not in some way connected with her pony. "I'm going to give that girl some rides. How happy she will be, poor little Jessie!"
"When you get your sleigh," said Mr. Parlin.
"My sleigh, papa? How many more presents are coming?"
"It is hard to tell, Susy; one gift makes way for another, you see. First comes the pony; but how can he live without a stable, and a groom to feed him? Then what is a pony worth without a saddle? And, as one does not wish always to ride pony-back, a sleigh is the next thing."
"But, papa, you know in the summer!"
"Yes, my dear, in the summer, if we all live, there must be a light carriage made on purpose for you."
"There is one thing more that pony needs," said aunt Madge, stroking his eyebrows, "and that is, a name."
"O, I never thought of that," said Susy; "help me find a name, auntie."
"Let me think. I should call him something good and pleasant. Think of something good and pleasant Think of something you like very much."
"O, Frosted Cake," cried Prudy: "wouldn't that be pleasant? Susy loves that."
"I should like to name him for the American Eagle," said Susy, who had heard some patriotic speeches from her cousin Percy; "only you couldn't pet that name, could you?"
"You might call him Don Carlos, or Don Pedro," suggested Mr. Parlin.
"No, papa; only think of Donny: that is like Donkey! You haven't any long ears, have you, pony? If you had, I'd call you Little Pitcher, for 'little pitchers have great ears.' That makes me think of Mr. Allen, auntie. How big his ears are, you know? Is it because his teacher pulled them so?"
"O, call him 'Gustus,'" cried Prudy.
"But that would soon be Gusty," said aunt Madge, "and would sound too much like the east wind."
"Dear me," sighed Susy; "who'd ever think it was such hard work to find names?"
"O, look," said Prudy, as they passed a jaded old horse; "there is a pony just exactly like this! Only it's twice as big, you know, and not a bit such a color!"
"Well, there, Prudy," said Susy, disdainfully, "I thought, when you began to speak, you was going to tell something! Why don't you wait till you have something to say? Please give me a list of names, papa."
"There's Speedwell, Lightfoot, Zephyr, Prince, Will-o'-the-wisp—"
"I might call him Wispy," broke in Susy. "Zephyr is good, only it makes you think of worsteds."
"Now, listen," said aunt Madge; "you might call him Elephant, just for sport, because he is in reality so very little. Or, on the other hand, you might find the least speck of a name, like Firefly, or Midge."
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