Christmas gold, p.909
Christmas Gold, page 909
An' allus has b'en humored so!)
Nen Uncle gits the flat-arn out,
An', while he's tellin' us all 'bout
Old Chris'mus-times when he's a kid,
He ist cracked hickernuts, he did,
Till they's a crockful, mighty nigh!
An' when they're all done by an' by,
He raked the red coals out again
An' telled me, "Fetch that popcorn in,
An' old three-leggud skillut—an'
The led an' all now, little man,—
An' yer old Uncle here 'ull show
You how corn's popped, long years ago
When me an' Santy Claus wuz boys
On Pap's old place in Illinoise!—
An' your Pa, too, wuz chums, all through,
With Santy!—Wisht Pa'd be here, too!"
Nen Uncle sigh at Ma, an' she
Pat him again, an' say to me
An' Etty,—"You take warning fair!—
Don't talk too much, like Uncle there,
Ner don't fergit, like him, my dears,
That 'little pitchers has big ears!'"
But Uncle say to her, "Clear out!—
Yer brother knows what he's about.—
You git your Chris'mus-cookin' done
Er these pore childern won't have none!"
Nen Trip wake up an' raise, an' nen
Turn roun' an' nen lay down again.
An' one time Uncle Sidney say,—
"When dogs is sleepin' thataway,
Like Trip, an' whimpers, it's a sign
He'll ketch eight rabbits—mayby nine—
Afore his fleas'll wake him—nen
He'll bite hisse'f to sleep again
An try to dream he's go' ketch ten."
An' when Ma's gone again back in
The kitchen, Uncle scratch his chin
An' say, "When Santy Claus an' Pa
An' me wuz little boys—an' Ma,
When she's 'bout big as Etty there;—
W'y,—'When we're growed—no matter where,'
Santy he cross' his heart an' say,—
'I'll come to see you, all, some day
When you' got childerns—all but me
An' pore old Sid!'" Nen Uncle he
Ist kindo' shade his eyes an' pour'
'Bout forty-'leven bushels more
O' popcorn out the skillut there
In Ma's new basket on the chair.
An' nen he telled us—an' talk' low,
"So Ma can't hear," he say:—"You know
Yer Pa know', when he drived away,
Tomorry's go' be Chris'mus-Day;—
Well, nen tonight," he whisper, "see?—
It's go' be Chris'mus-Eve," says-ee,
"An', like yer Pa hint, when he went,
Old Santy Claus (now hush!) he's sent
Yer Pa a postul-card, an' write
He's shorely go' be here tonight....
That's why yer Pa's so bored to be
Away tonight, when Santy he
Is go' be here, sleighbells an' all,
To make you kids a Chris'mus-call!"
An' we're so glad to know fer shore
He's comin', I roll on the floor—
An' here come Trip a-waller'n' roun'
An' purt'-nigh knock the clo'eshorse down!—
An' Etty grab Lee-Bob an' prance
All roun' the room like it's a dance—
Till Ma she come an' march us nen
To dinner, where we're still again,
But tickled so we ist can't eat
But pie, an' ist the hot mincemeat
With raisins in.—But Uncle et,
An' Ma. An' there they set an' set
Till purt'-nigh supper-time; nen we
Tell him he's got to fix the Tree
'Fore Santy gits here, like he said.
We go nen to the old woodshed—
All bundled up, through the deep snow—
"An' snowin' yet, jee-rooshy-O!"
Uncle he said, an' he'p us wade
Back where's the Chris'mus-Tree he's made
Out of a little jackoak-top
He git down at the sawmill-shop—
An' Trip 'ud run ahead, you know,
An' 'tend-like he 'uz eatin' snow—
When we all waddle back with it;
An' Uncle set it up—an' git
It wite in front the fireplace—'cause
He says "'Tain't so 'at Santy Claus
Comes down all chimblies,—least, tonight
He's comin' in this house all right—
By the front-door, as ort to be!—
We'll all be hid where we can see!"
Nen he look up, an' he see Ma
An' say, "It's ist too bad their Pa
Can't be here, so's to see the fun
The childern will have, ever' one!"
Well, we!—We hardly couldn't wait
Till it wuz dusk, an' dark an' late
Enough to light the lamp!—An' Lee-
Bob light a candle on the Tree—
"Ist one—'cause I'm 'The Lighter'!"—Nen
He clumb on Uncle's knee again
An' hug us bofe;—an' Etty git
Her little chist an' set on it
Wite clos't, while Uncle telled some more
'Bout Santy Claus, an' clo'es he wore
"All maked o' furs, an' trimmed as white
As cotton is, er snow at night!"
An' nen, all sudden-like, he say,—
"Hush! Listen there! Hain't that a sleigh
An' sleighbells jinglin'?" Trip go "whooh!"
Like he hear bells an' smell 'em, too.
Nen we all listen.... An'-sir, shore
Enough, we hear bells—more an' more
A-jinglin' clos'ter—clos'ter still
Down the old crook-road roun' the hill.
An' Uncle he jumps up, an' all
The chairs he jerks back by the wall
An' th'ows a' overcoat an' pair
O' winder-curtains over there
An' says, "Hide quick, er you're too late!—
Them bells is stoppin' at the gate!—
Git back o' them-'air chairs an' hide,
'Cause I hear Santy's voice outside!"
An' Bang! bang! bang! we heerd the door—
Nen it flewed open, an' the floor
Blowed full o' snow—that's first we saw,
Till little Lee-Bob shriek' at Ma
"There's Santy Claus!—I know him by
His big white mufftash!"—an' ist cry
An' laugh an' squeal an' dance an' yell—
Till, when he quiet down a spell,
Old Santy bow an' th'ow a kiss
To him—an' one to me an' Sis—
An' nen go clos't to Ma an' stoop
An' kiss her—An' nen give a whoop
That fainted her!—'Cause when he bent
An' kiss her, he ist backed an' went
Wite 'ginst the Chris'mus-Tree ist where
The candle's at Lee-Bob lit there!—
An' set his white-fur belt afire—
An' blaze streaked roun' his waist an' higher
Wite up his old white beard an' th'oat!—
Nen Uncle grabs th' old overcoat
An' flops it over Santy's head,
An' swing the door wide back an' said,
"Come out, old man!—an' quick about
It!—I've ist got to put you out!"
An' out he sprawled him in the snow—
"Now roll!" he says—"Hi-roll-ee-O!"—
An' Santy, sputter'n' "Ouch! Gee-whiz!"
Ist roll an' roll fer all they is!
An' Trip he's out there, too,—I know,
'Cause I could hear him yappin' so—
An' I heerd Santy, wunst er twic't,
Say, as he's rollin', "Drat the fice't!"
Nen Uncle come back in, an' shake
Ma up, an' say, "Fer mercy-sake!—
He hain't hurt none!" An' nen he said,—
"You youngsters h'ist up-stairs to bed!—
Here! kiss yer Ma 'Good-night,' an' me,—
We'll he'p old Santy fix the Tree—
An' all yer whistles, horns an' drums
I'll he'p you toot when morning comes!"
It's long while 'fore we go to sleep,—
'Cause down-stairs, all-time somepin' keep
A-kindo' scufflin' roun' the floors—
An' openin' doors, an' shettin' doors—
An' could hear Trip a-whinin', too,
Like he don't know ist what to do—
An' tongs a-clankin' down k'thump!—
Nen some one squonkin' the old pump—
An' Wooh! how cold it soun' out there!
I could ist see the pump-spout where
It's got ice chin-whiskers all wet
An' drippy—An' I see it yet!
An' nen, seem-like, I hear some mens
A-talkin' out there by the fence,
An' one says, "Oh, 'bout twelve o'clock!"
"Nen," 'nother'n says, "Here's to you, Doc!—
God bless us ever' one!" An' nen
I heerd the old pump squonk again.
An' nen I say my prayer all through
Like Uncle Sidney learn' me to,—
"O Father mine, e'en as Thine own,
This child looks up to Thee alone:
Asleep or waking, give him still
His Elder Brother's wish and will."
An' that's the last I know.... Till Ma
She's callin' us—an' so is Pa,—
He holler "Chris'mus-gif'!" an' say,—
"I'm got back home fer Chris'mus-Day!—
An' Uncle Sid's here, too—an' he
Is nibblin' 'roun' yer Chris'mus-Tree!"
Nen Uncle holler, "I suppose
Yer Pa's so proud he's froze his nose
He wants to turn it up at us,
'Cause Santy kick' up such a fuss—
Tetchin' hisse'f off same as ef
He wuz his own fireworks hisse'f!"
An' when we're down-stairs,—shore enough,
Pa's nose is froze an' salve an' stuff
All on it—an' one hand's froze, too,
An' got a old yarn red-and-blue
Mitt on it—"An' he's froze some more
Acrost his chist, an' kindo' sore
All roun' his dy-fram," Uncle say.—
"But Pa he'd ort a-seen the way
Santy bear up last night when that-
Air fire break out, an' quicker'n scat
He's all a-blazin', an' them-'air
Gun-cotton whiskers that he wear
Ist flashin'!—till I burn a hole
In the snow with him, and he roll
The front-yard dry as Chris'mus jokes
Old parents plays on little folks!
But, long's a smell o' tow er wool,
I kep' him rollin' beautiful!—
Till I wuz shore I shorely see
He's squenched! W'y, hadn't b'en fer me,
That old man might a-burnt clear down
Clean—plum'—level with the groun'!"
Nen Ma say, "There, Sid; that'll do!—
Breakfast is ready—Chris'mus, too.—
Your voice 'ud soun' best, sayin' Grace—
Say it." An' Uncle bow' his face
An' say so long a Blessing nen,
Trip bark' two times 'fore it's "A-men!"
King Winter
Table of Contents
The sky is dull and grey,
Piercing and chill the blast,
Each step resounds on the frosty ground,
Winter is come at last.
* * *
Mamma sits by the fire
Her little ones round her knees.
"How cosy we are, Mamma," they cry,
"Tell us something, if you please."
"Tell us about King Winter,
And about Jack Frost, his man;
We'll not be noisy or naughty at all,
But as good as ever we can."
* * *
"Well then;" says mamma, "you, Jenny,
May knit and listen, my dear;
And Johnny may split up wood, to make
The fire burn bright and clear."
King Winter dwells in the North;
Far away in the Frozen Zone,
In a palace of snow he holds his court,
And sits on an icy throne.
* * *
He has cushions of course: his Queen
Made them out of her wedding gown.
Stuffing them well with snowflakes fine,
And soft as eiderdown.
The King has a trusty servant,
Jack Frost is his name; his nose
Is raspberry red, his beard is white,
And stiff as a crutch it grows.
* * *
Old Jack is a sturdy good fellow,
And serves their Majesties well;
He's here and he's there, and he's everywhere,
And does more than I can tell.
Each year, as the day comes round,
The king and his royal train
Set off on a tour through the wide wide world,
And sweep over mountain and plain.
* * *
His Majesty fails not to visit
Every clime that's not too hot,
To look in upon both high and low,
From the palace down to the cot.
Jack Frost has a busy time then,
But he's helped and advised by the Queen,
That all may be right when the King goes forth,
And everything fit to be seen.
* * *
That the King may have pleasant travel,
And no stone hurt his royal toe,
Her Majesty spreads all over the earth,
A carpet of downy snow.
Fine mirrors the King delights in:
None are finer than Jack can make:
And in matchless sheets of crystal clear
He lays them on river and lake.
* * *
The trees, all naked and drear,
He robes in the purest white,
And with icicles shining with rainbow hues,
He makes their branches bright.
And for want of buds and blossoms
To strew in his Majesty's way,
With magic flowers of his own device
He makes the windows gay.
* * *
These wonders wrought in a single night
May well excite surprise;
Amazed is the sun when he gets up at dawn,
And he stares with all his eyes.
Then out come all the boys and girls,
Jack's handiwork to view,
And their noses and cheeks turn red with cold,
Some of them even turn blue.
* * *
They pelt each other with snow,
Roll it up in a mighty ball,
And shout and laugh and scamper about,
And heels over head they fall.
They make a huge man of snow,
As grand as a Russian Czar,
A wooden sword in his hand, in his mouth,
A carrot to serve for cigar.
* * *
His eyes, his hair, and his beard,
They paint as black as my shoe
With burnt stick, but they spoil his nose,
For they stick it rather askew.
Then what do you think? For a cockshot
They take him; they pelt him and hit;
They knock of the snowman's ears and nose,
But he does not mind it a bit.
* * *
Hurrah! for the good thick ice.
Oh! isn't it jolly? They slide,
They skate, and in sleighs so fine they go,
And swift as the wind they glide.
King Winter laughs at the sport,
Cries "Bravo!" and claps his hands,
And calling in haste for his man, Jack Frost,
He gives him these commands:
* * *
"Go see the papas and mammas,
And bring me word what they say:
Have the children been good and well behaved,
Since last I came this way?"
The King trims Christmas trees,
To give to good girls and boys,
With tapers and trinkets of silver and gold,
And all sorts of dainties and toys.
* * *
The Queen cuts twigs of birch,
Of birch so supple and keen,
And daintily ties them up into rods
The finest that ever were seen.
Soon with this word to the King
Jack Frost comes back at a trot:
"Good have most of the children been,
But some of them have not."
* * *
The King gives him the pretty trees,
The Queen the rods so smart,
And away goes Jack again with his load,
Till every house has its part.
Cakes, mince-pies nuts and apples,
Good children get from the King.
You can guess what the naughty get,
The rods are the only thing.
* * *
"Oh dear mamma," cries Jenny,
"Johnny's been good, and so have I!
Pray tell Jack Frost we don't want the rod,
Oh! do ask him to put it by."
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