Part 4 (1/2)

WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ

[Ill.u.s.tration: Who Santy-Claus Wuz--t.i.tle]

Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still-- Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will.

Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New Year's ain't a smell!

Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the sh.e.l.l!

Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hear The old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer, An' ”Santy” skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz-- Long afore I knowed who ”Santy-Claus” wuz!

Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead; Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed; Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother settin' here Darnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went, An' quar'l with his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment; An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz, Long afore I knowed who ”Santy-Claus” wuz!

Size the fire-place up an' figger how ”Ole Santy” could Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would; Wisht 'at I could hide an' see him--wunderd what he'd say Ef he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway!

But I _bet_ on him, an' _liked_ him, same as ef he had Turned to pat me on the back an' say, ”Look here, my lad, Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!”

Long afore I knowed who ”Santy-Claus” wuz!

[Ill.u.s.tration: An' quar'l with his frosted heels]

Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be-- Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me!-- Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child Climbin' in my lap to-night, an' beggin' me to tell 'Bout them reindeers, and ”Old Santy” that she loves so well I'm half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his-- Long afore She knows who ”Santy-Claus” is!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Who Santy-Claus Wuz--Tailpiece]

THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS

They all climbed up on a high board-fence-- Nine little Goblins, with green-gla.s.s eyes-- Nine little Goblins that had no sense, And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies; And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat-- And I asked them what they were staring at.

And the first one said, as he scratched his head With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear And rasped its claws in his hair so red-- ”This is what this little arm is fer!”

And he scratched and stared, and the next one said, ”How on earth do _you_ scratch your head?”

And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge-- Laughed and laughed till his face grew black; And when he choked, with a final twinge Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back With a fist that grew on the end of his tail Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Nine Little Goblins]

And the third little Goblin leered round at me-- And there were no lids on his eyes at all-- And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he, ”What is the style of your socks this fall?”

And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see That he had hands where his feet should be.

Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim, Bowed his head, and I saw him slip His eyebrows off, as I looked at him, And paste them over his upper lip; And then he moaned in remorseful pain-- ”Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!”

And then the whole of the Goblin band Rocked on the fence-top to and fro, And clung, in a long row, hand in hand, Singing the songs that they used to know-- Singing the songs that their grandsires sung In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.

And ever they kept their green-gla.s.s eyes Fixed on me with a stony stare-- Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise, And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair, And I felt the heart in my breast snap to As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.

And they sang ”You're asleep! There is no board-fence, And never a Goblin with green-gla.s.s eyes!-- 'Tis only a vision the mind invents After a supper of cold mince-pies,-- And you're doomed to dream this way,” they said,-- ”_And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!_”

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Nine Little Goblins--Tailpiece]

TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS

[Ill.u.s.tration: Time of Clearer Twitterings--t.i.tle]