Part 5 (2/2)

When does Christmas Day begin? It can never be determined, but most people think it begins when they wake, though all do not wake at once; the children generally have the longest Christmas Day. Now, in Fountain Court, almost before daylight, there was some one astir. He came out of the door of Morgridge & Mit, dealers in tobacco, and toddled up the court at an astonis.h.i.+ng gait. Where did he go to? he certainly pa.s.sed the pump and turned the corner, and in a quarter of an hour more was trotting down the court with a parcel in his hand. The door of Morgridge & Mit closes behind him, but not before we have seen his face. Verily, it is Mr. Morgridge, but so extraordinarily like Santa Klaus is he, that we are puzzled to know which of the two it is; the form and shoulders are those of Mr. Morgridge, but the face at least is borrowed from Santa Klaus; Mr. Morgridge never in his life looked so jolly. Not to confound this person with the sour-faced man who sat glumpy, upon the bench taking snuff, the night before, let us call him Morgridge Klaus.

Morgridge Klaus stole slily up stairs to Peter Mit's loft. He went up stairs because there was so much of the Morgridge about him; if there had been more of the Klaus he would undoubtedly have come down the chimney. At the top of the stairs, where it was still quite dark, he could see Peter curled up in bed. But it was not he that he had come to see. He began groping about on the floor in search of something. ”Ah!

here it is!” he said with a chuckle, bringing to light a stocking most woefully riddled with holes. Morgridge Klaus stuffed a paper parcel into the stocking, and laying it carefully on the floor, stumbled down stairs, chuckling to himself and taking snuff immoderately.

Mr. Morgridge's Christmas Day had in fact commenced, but it was an hour yet before Peter Mit began his Christmas Day. The little fellow rubbed his eyes and drew his knees nearer his chin when he awoke. Then he remembered the day and looked eagerly toward the chimney. There hung his stocking, as small, as full of holes, and as empty as when he hung it.

”So it was a dream only after all,” he said sorrowfully. Still he went over to it in hopes that the dream might have come true, and that the candy and m.u.f.fler had remained by the stocking, but they too were gone.

Peter s.h.i.+veringly dressed himself. He had now only one stocking and a shoe to put on. How heavy the stocking was! there was something in it!

Peter grew greatly excited--”Santa Klaus must have taken this stocking after all!” said he. Yes, there was a bundle, and the paper stuck to the inside. It was candy without a doubt; but where was the m.u.f.fler?

Peter turned the stocking inside out, but the m.u.f.fler had gone after the rest of the things. The candy alone was faithful.

Peter hastened down stairs. Mr. Morgridge was there getting breakfast ready. Peter eagerly told him of his good fortune. What a chuckle did the old fellow give! it was amazing to Peter. He had never before heard Mr. Morgridge make such a noise. He had never seen his face so broken up into smiles and grins. He could hardly believe it was Mr. Morgridge. Nor was it--it was Morgridge Klaus.

While breakfast was in preparation, Peter climbed up into his watch-tower. Well done! there was a m.u.f.fler in the chair! precisely like the one which he had seen enter the stocking the night before. How could it have found its way to his seat? As he was looking at it in wonderment, there was another undoubted chuckle from Morgridge Klaus.

Peter was astonished beyond measure. Could Mr. Morgridge be Santa Klaus?

impossible! yet he began to believe it, for was it any harder of belief than that it was Mr. Morgridge who then spoke in a voice that had in it the cheeriness of Solomon Mit:--

”Come down, little Peter! To-day is Christmas Day. We must hurry through breakfast; for we've got twenty-five turkeys to carry to twenty-five honest poor folk. It will go hard with us, but we'll make s.h.i.+ft to buy 'em. G.o.d bless you Peter Mit!” and may the Indian in front of the door tomahawk me if David Morgridge did not then and there, in his old, wheezy, snuff-choked voice, sing--

”All glory be to G.o.d on high, And to the Earth be peace, Good will, henceforth, from Heaven to men, Begin and never cease!”

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The Little Castaways

JULIA'S STORY.

The Little Castaways.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

It was a June afternoon, long and gentle; the sun did not scorch as it does in August, and the wind was from the South, just strong enough to stir the trees a little, and to carry the fragrance of the flowers through the air. It was such an afternoon as old people like to spend listlessly watching the bees and the b.u.t.terflies, and thinking of old times; nor are they the only people who like June afternoons; their children and their grandchildren in different fas.h.i.+on, make the most of these long hours and never think them too long.

Old Benjy Robin was humming a psalm-tune as he sat in his chair upon the front stoop of his son's house, where he always lived; he had moved away a little from the open pa.s.sage which led to the back of the house, to avoid the draught of wind that pa.s.sed gently through. It was a very pleasant wind to younger folk, but Old Benjy was turned of eighty, and not so warm in his blood as to like such cool currents. His cane stood between his knees, over which was spread a large red silk handkerchief, and his hands were folded before him; while his two thumbs slowly turned round each other, sometimes one way, sometimes the other. Before him he could see down the garden walk, with its trim rows of shrubbery, and beyond farther on, the very lovely hills that closed in the lake of Clearwater, the sh.o.r.e of which was but a little way off. John Robin, his son, who owned the house and farm, owned also part of the lake, and there was a path, leading from the other side of the road in front of the house, down to the sh.o.r.e where the horses were taken to water and where the farmer kept his boats. It was a beautiful view from the stoop, especially when as now the white clouds were floating over the tops of the hills.

It was so quiet and the air was so mild that old Benjy soon began to feel sleepy; he took the red bandanna from his knees and threw it over his head to keep the flies away from his face, and then settled himself to sleep, while his thumbs continued to go slowly round and round as if they were trying in vain to overtake one another. Old Juniper too, the great Newfoundland dog that lay at his feet, gave up trying to catch the flies that plagued him, and stretching himself out as much as he could, drew in his tongue over his red gums, and also fell sound asleep breathing very hard.

The only persons in the house this June afternoon were the old man, Juniper the dog, and Yulee, and Bo, Robin, Benjy's grandchildren. Their father and mother had gone out for the afternoon and would not be back until after tea; the boys were at work at the other end of the farm, and so the children had been left in care of their grandfather and the servant-maids. But Benjy had gone to sleep, and the servants had taken the time to pay a visit to the next farmhouse. The children however did not notice this; they were sitting on the door-step at the back of the house, at the opposite end of the pa.s.sage to where their grandfather was. They enjoyed the wind that was blowing through so pleasantly, and Yulee was reading aloud from a book to her brother Bo. Yulee was eight years old; her real name was Julia, but no one but the school mistress ever called her so. Bo, short for Robert, was two years younger and wanted to do everything that Yulee did. Wherever Yulee was, there you would be sure to find Bo. He followed her about as faithfully as a chicken does her mother, and Yulee treated him very much as a hen does its only chicken.

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