The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus  by Amelia C. Houghton

Nicholas, the Wood-Carver

ICHOLAS did not leave the wood-carver on Christmas Day, or the next year, or the next. He stayed on in the little cottage, which was now bright and clean, and a happy dwelling for two happy people. For old Marsden had forgotten his grouch in the daily association with Nicholas' sunny disposition; he cheerfully taught Nicholas all he knew of his difficult trade, so that as the boy grew in years and strength, his knowledge of wood-carving soon matched that of his old master. Marsden bought a horse and sleigh for the trips outside of town, which were also used by Nicholas on his Christmas Eve visits to the children in the village. For although the little ones he had played with had grown up and stopped playing with toys, there were new babies in every household every year, and each one was taught to expect from Nicholas, the wood-carver, a little toy on Christmas morning.

One bright summer morning, Nicholas was sitting on a bench outside the cottage door, carving away at a half-finished chair leg and whistling cheerfully as he worked. He was then twenty years old, a tall young man, the yellow hair a little darker, but with the same blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and ready smile. He stopped his work to listen to the birds singing in the trees overhead and to enjoy the warm sunlight shining down on him. Suddenly two children ran up the path leading to the cottage door, bursting with news.

"Nicholas," one of them panted, "Nicholas, there are two men in the village who have been asking where old Marsden lives. They are on their way here now. Who do you suppose they are? They said . . ."

"Hush," said the other child, "here they are now."

Two men, about ten or fifteen years older than Nicholas, were coming slowly up the path. They seemed surprised to see him working at the bench, and one of them spoke.

"Excuse me, but they told us in the village that we would find Bertran Marsden here. If we have made a mistake, . . ."

"No," answered Nicholas, "this is Bertran Marsden's cottage. I am only his apprentice. I'll call him. He has a nap every afternoon now. You see, he's getting rather old."

The two men looked at each other with shamed eyes.

"Yes, he must be old now. Don't disturb him. We'll come back."

"No, here he is now," said Nicholas.

Marsden had appeared in the doorway and was looking from one to the other with puzzled eyes.

One of the men stepped forward. "Father," he began.

"Father!" Marsden tottered a little; Nicholas put out a steadying arm.

"Yes, don't you remember us, Father? I am Henrik and this is Lons. We left you years ago, but we finally made our fortune and are ready to take you home."

"Take me home!" Old Marsden straightened himself. "This is my home, and you are two strange men to me."

"No, Father," answered Lons. "We are your two sons. We are sorry we left you alone years ago, but boys are thoughtless, and we wanted only the adventure and didn't think how much we might be hurting you. If you'll forgive us now, . . ."

The old man looked at his two sons for a long moment.

"Yes, of course I'll forgive you. If you had come back a few years ago, I couldn't have done it. I have found another son. This is Nicholas, who lives with me, and who does most of my work now."

The sons looked at Nicholas, then back at their father again, uncertain how to go on. Finally Henrik spoke.

"We've just bought a house in the next village, Father. Lons and I have a fishing boat there, and we're doing well. We want you to come there and live with us. We want to make up to you for the years we were away."

Marsden shook his head. "No, my lads; I have my little cottage here, and Nicholas helps me with my work. I don't need anything, and I couldn't live without working."

Lons answered quickly. "But you could go on working in our village, Father. There's no wood-carver there, and if you insist, there are many people who would give you something to do. We so want to have you; we've been planning all through our travels how, when we came home again, we'd take care of you and live with you and make you forget that we were ever heedless boys who ran away for an adventure. And Nicholas here,—why, he could easily take over the business in this village, if he's as good as you say. He's young, and probably ambitious; why don't you give him a chance, Father?"

None of the arguments seemed to make much impression on the old man until the end; then he listened attentively and paused a while before he spoke.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Nicholas deserves something like this. He could do it easily. He's a bright lad . . ."

Nicholas interrupted. "Don't think of me, master. If you don't want to go with them, we'll go on living here together just the same as before. I don't want to take your business."

"There, lad," said Marsden, laying a hand on Nicholas' shoulder, "I don't want to leave you either, but you're young, and youth should be given a chance. Besides," he paused, and looked at the two tall men standing before him, as anxious and nervous as boys, their eyes pleading silently with their father, "besides, these are my own sons, and I think they need me as much as I need them."

Henrik and Lons sprang over to the old man's side.

"Father, does it mean you will . . ."

Marsden nodded his head, grown almost white in the last few years. "Yes, I'll just move along to the next village with you, my sons, and I'll leave this cottage and my tools with my other son, Nicholas."

He put a loving hand on Nicholas' shoulder, and then the four went inside the house to discuss how and when the move would be made.

A week later, Nicholas found himself the owner of a two-room cottage, a perfect set of wood-carver's tools, and a well-established business which should keep him housed, fed, and clothed for life. At first he was lonely in the little cottage after Marsden had left with his sons, but he soon became interested in his work, which kept him so busy he had no time to feel alone. Then, too, there was almost always a child or two chatting to him or playing with its toys on the cottage floor.

Nicholas divided his day now so that he spent only part of his time on the orders he received; the rest of the day and most of the evenings he worked on toys for the next Christmas; for he now had such a long list of children it took months to complete the set of gifts he had to make.

He continued his practice, established the year he had to deliver the chest on Christmas Day, of making his rounds on Christmas Eve; and one year, he was considerably surprised and touched to see that the children had hung on their doors little embroidered bags filled with oats for his horse. So now, instead of leaving the toys piled up in the doorway, he put them in the little bags.

So it was a busy, happy existence that Nicholas led in the little wood-carver's cottage on the outskirts of the village, and as he grew older, the sound of children's voices lifted in their play became dearer and dearer to him; and the children, in their turn, loved to be near the tall, kind man with the light-colored beard whom everybody called Nicholas, the wood-carver.

 

Mary F. Butts

Winter Night

Blow, wind, blow! Drift the flying snow! Send it twirling, whirling overhead! There's a bedroom in a tree Where, snug as snug can be, The squirrel nests in his cozy bed. Shriek, wind, shriek! Make the branches creak! Battle with the boughs till break o' day! In a snow-cave warm and tight, Through the icy winter night The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away. Call, wind, call! In entry and in hall! Straight from off the mountain white and wild! Soft purrs the pussy-cat, On her little fluffy mat, And beside her nestles close her furry child. Scold, wind, scold! So bitter and so bold! Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap! With half-shut dreamy eyes The drowsy baby lies Cuddled closely in his mother's lap.

 

The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus  by Amelia C. Houghton

The First Christmas Stocking

AURENS and Friedrik were two little newcomers in the village. Their mother and father were even poorer than most of the other families, which made them poor indeed, because nobody in the village had a great deal of money. Ever since the day of their arrival, they had been met by misfortune. Their father was a fisherman and used to be able to keep his family supplied with enough food to eat and enough fuel to keep them warm; but one day his boat had been caught in a storm, and the heavy mast had fallen on him, paralyzing him so that he had been forced to stay in bed and watch his little family grow thinner and thinner from lack of enough food to eat.

Their neighbors gave them as much of their meager supplies as they themselves could spare, and the mother worked occasionally in the household of the Squire or some of the more well-to-do families of the village, but there were still many meals in the little cottage which consisted solely of a piece of dried bread or fish, or a dish of thin gruel.

Laurens was now the man of the family, although he was only eight years old. He built fires, shoveled the heavy snow from the cottage door, kept the house neat and clean while his mother was out working, and took care of his little brother Friedrik. One of his principal duties was going into the forest and helping the wood-cutter, receiving in return for this service enough wood to keep his family supplied with fuel. He rather enjoyed this task, for he met many of the other boys while he was out. Although he worked while they played, he enjoyed being with children his own age after long hours spent in the house with his sick father and four-year-old brother.

One cold winter afternoon, as he was returning from the forest with his sled piled with the wood he had helped cut, he met a merry group of boys who were building a snow fort a few hundred yards away from the cottage of Nicholas, the wood-carver.

One of the boys noticed the little figure dragging the heavy sled and called out, "Ho there, Laurens! Want to be on our side?"

Laurens paused and looked wistfully at the boys playing in the snow. "I guess not," he answered. "I ought to get this wood home before nightfall."

"Oh, you have plenty of time," one of them replied. "There's a good hour yet before the sun goes down, and we'll help you drag your wood if you'll stay."

Laurens hesitated, then dropped the rope of his sled and joined the group. After all, his mother was home that afternoon, so his father and Friedrik would be taken care of, and there was enough fuel in the house to keep the fire going until evening. And it was a long time since he had played in the snow. So for a merry, carefree hour he forgot the troubles and duties of his house, and was only an eight-year-old boy having a good time. When it was his turn to storm the fort, he joined his side, and with breathless, gay courage, braved the storm of snowballs, climbed the icy walls of the fort, and took noisy possession. Then it was his turn to help his comrades hold the fort, so he warily kept out of sight, watching his chance to rise now and then above the white edge of the stronghold and hurl snowy missiles at the oncoming foe, and pausing every once in a while to make himself a new supply of ammunition.

It was during one of these moments, while he was busy collecting snow and packing it into firm round balls, that he heard a glad shout from both sides, from his comrades inside the fort and his enemies outside,—"Nicholas! Hey, fellows, here's Nicholas!"—and looked up to see the tall figure of the wood-carver approaching the group. As he came nearer, he lifted his mittened hand to wave to the boys; his rosy, kindly face beaming a welcome, his blue eyes twinkling at the sight of the good time everybody seemed to be having.

"Well, well, a snow-fight! " he said in his deep voice. "It's a long time since I've had one of them; and when I was a boy, we knew how to take a fort. Now, I'd go about it like this."

"Well, well, a snow-fight!"

He stooped swiftly and gathered up a handful of snow, and quickly packing and shaping it in his hands, took the finished snowball, and threw it with sure, accurate aim at the tallest boy behind the fort. It knocked the surprised fellow's hat clean off, and the other side, delighted with this new ally, rushed forward, Nicholas in their midst, and took the fort amid loud shouts and hurrahs.

Laurens looked at the tall man shyly. Of course he knew who Nicholas was; he had heard of him ever since his family had moved into the village last summer. He knew that he was the man who kept the children supplied with toys and gifts on Christmas Day, but of course he also supposed that Nicholas only remembered the children he really knew.

The snow-party started to break up then, as most of the boys had to be home before nightfall, and the sun was already sinking in the west. They started towards home then, accompanying Nicholas as far as his cottage. At the gate, the wood-carver paused a moment, looking over the group with keen eyes that seemed to see everything.

"Is this a new boy in the village?" he asked, laying a hand on Laurens' shoulder, and looking down kindly into the shy brown eyes.

"Yes, his name is Laurens, and he has a little brother Friedrik . . ."

"And his father is paralyzed, and doesn't work, and his mother . . ."

One of the boys dug his elbow sharply into the side of the last speaker.

"Now you've done it," he said angrily. "Why can't you hold your tongue? You've hurt his feelings by talking about his family right out like that. Here, I'm going after him. Come on, fellows."

And they ran after Laurens, leaving Nicholas alone at the gate, with a wise smile on his lips and a knowing shake of his head.

The group finally caught up with Laurens, who furtively wiped his eyes and mumbled something about having to be home anyway. The boys tried to distract his attention from the thoughtless remarks by talking about the man they had just left.

"That's Nicholas, the wood-carver, he's wonderful," volunteered one boy. "Every Christmas now, at least ever since I can remember, he's been leaving gifts at the doors in the village."

"Not every door," said another. "He only leaves them at the houses where he sees an embroidered bag. My mother told me that since the village has grown, Nicholas doesn't know every child the way he used to, so how does he know which house has children and which hasn't unless there's a bag there?"

"Yes," chimed in another, "and how would he even know how many gifts to leave unless there was a bag for each one?"

So they went on and on about the wonderful things Nicholas gave them, quite forgetting little Laurens, trudging along with his heavy sled, and his heart growing just as heavy with each step.

When he reached home, his mind was still occupied with the information he had heard that afternoon. It would be wonderful for little Friedrik to have a gift from that kind man. Of course, it did not matter so much about him; he was eight years old and didn't mind—at least, not very  much—if he didn't get a toy; because when in the world would he have time to play with toys? But the problem that began to spin round and round in his head was,—how could he fix it so that Nicholas would know there was a little boy in their house?

That night he tried to get his mother interested.

"Mother," he began somewhat doubtfully, for he well knew how tired she must be, and probably unwilling to listen to nonsense about Christmas toys when her mind was occupied with the problem of where the next meal was coming from. "Mother, do you suppose we have a bag in the house?"

"A bag! What kind of bag, child?" she asked, astonished.

"Well, it should be an embroidered bag, really, but I suppose any kind of bag would do. You hang it outside the door Christmas Eve, and then when Friedrik wakes up the next morning, there's a fine toy for him. It's Nicholas, the wood-carver, who does it, and I thought that if there was only some kind of a bag around here . . ."

The mother sighed. "Things like potatoes and flour come in bags, child, and those are things we haven't seen for many days. And goodness knows, with all my worries, I have no time to make you one. Forget about this Nicholas person anyway," she finished bitterly. "I don't suppose he'd come to poor children like you, anyway."

So Laurens was forced to abandon the idea of a bag to hang outside the door for Friedrik's Christmas gift, but he couldn't forget about Nicholas. Why, out there in the forest, he looked like such a kind, jolly man; he wouldn't pass by a child's house just because he was poor. He thought and thought, until finally Christmas Eve arrived. He was sitting by the fire helping his little brother to undress. He sat staring into the fire while Friedrik capered around in his little night-shirt, taking advantage of his big brother's thoughtful moment to play just one more minute before going to bed. Laurens absent-mindedly began to make a neat pile of the little fellow's clothing so it would be ready for him in the morning. As he picked up a little stocking, long and warm and woolly, he held it up, and said jokingly, "Now, that would hold some kind of gift, just as well as any embroidered bag . . ."

He stopped short, and stared intently at the stocking. "Why not?" he murmured, half to himself. "Why not?"

Little Friedrik looked frightened. "Laurens, Laurens, what are you looking at my stocking for? What are you going to do with it?"

Laurens gave a joyful shout. "Do with it? I'm going to hang it outside the door!" and with one leap, he flung open the cottage door.

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Christmas Eve in the village—a bright winter moon shining in the star-filled sky—glistening, white snow banked everywhere—on the roads, on the rooftops, on the fences, and in the doorways; houses darkened and inmates all sleeping soundly; not a soul stirring in the streets but one figure, which stole silently from door to door, leaving bulging bags filled with gifts. At Laurens' doorway the figure paused. In the bright moonlight, there was a funny object to be seen dangling outside the door—a child's woolen stocking! Nicholas laughed silently, a kind, tender laugh, then reached down into his pack and filled the lonely little stocking to the top. And with a snap of his whip and a jingling of sleighbells, he was off to the next house.

There was a funny object seen dangling outside the door.

The next morning, little Friedrik was presented with not one, nor two, but five tiny little toys—boats and horses and sleighs; and in the bottom of the stocking, way down in the toe, were five large pieces of gold, enough to keep a whole family through the winter. Little Friedrik shouted with joy, the father almost sat up in bed in his excitement, the mother's eyes were bright with happy tears, and Laurens hugged close to his heart the first Christmas stocking.

 

Anonymous

An Old Christmas Carol

God bless the master of this house, The mistress also, And all the little children, That round the table go, And all your kin and kinsmen That dwell both far and near; I wish you a Merry Christmas, And a Happy New Year.

 

The Book of Nature Myths  by Florence Holbrook

Why the Bear Has a Short Tail

ONE cold morning when the fox was coming up the road with some fish, he met the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fox," said the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "The morning is brighter because I have met you."

"Those are very good fish, Mr. Fox," said the bear. "I have not eaten such fish for many a day. Where do you find them?"

"I have been fishing, Mr. Bear," answered the fox.

"If I could catch such fish as those, I should like to go fishing, but I do not know how to fish."

"It would be very easy for you to learn, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "You are so big and strong that you can do anything."

"Will you teach me, Mr. Fox?" asked the bear.

"I would not tell everybody, but you are such a good friend that I will teach you. Come to this pond, and I will show you how to fish through the ice."

So the fox and the bear went to the frozen pond, and the fox showed the bear how to make a hole in the ice.

"That is easy for you," said the fox, "but many an animal could not have made that hole. Now comes the secret. You must put your tail down into the water and keep it there. That is not easy, and not every animal could do it, for the water is very cold; but you are a learned animal, Mr. Bear, and you know that the secret of catching fish is to keep your tail in the water a long time. Then when you pull it up, you will pull with it as many fish as I have."

The bear put his tail down into the water, and the fox went away. The sun rose high in the heavens, and still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice. Sunset came, but still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice, for he thought, "When an animal is really learned, he will not fear a little cold."

It began to be dark, and the bear said, "Now I will pull the fish out of the water. How good they will be!" He pulled and pulled, but not a fish came out. Worse than that, not all of his tail came out, for the end of it was frozen fast to the ice.

He went slowly down the road, growling angrily, "I wish I could find that fox;" but the cunning fox was curled up in his warm nest, and whenever he thought of the bear he laughed.

 

Fred E. Weatherly

The Dustman

When the toys are growing weary; And the twilight gathers in, When the nursery still re-echoes With the children's merry din; Then unseen, unheard, unnoticed, Comes an old man up the stair, Lightly to the children passes, Lays his hand upon their hair. Softly smiles the good old Dustman, In their eyes the dust he throws, Till their little heads are falling And their eyelids gently close. Then the Dustman very gently Takes each little dimpled hand, Leads them through the sweet green shadows, Far away to Slumberland.

 

Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—Around the Fire  by Lisa M. Ripperton

The Star Money

T HERE was once on a time a little girl whose father and mother were dead, and she was so poor that she no longer had any little room to live in, or bed to sleep in, and at last she had nothing else but the clothes she was wearing and a little bit of bread in her hand which some charitable soul had given her. She was, however, good and pious. And as she was thus forsaken by all the world, she went forth into the open country, trusting in the good God.

Then a poor man met her, who said, "Ah, give me something to eat, I am so hungry!"

She reached him the whole of her piece of bread, and said, "May God bless it to thy use," and went onwards.

Then came a child who moaned and said, "My head is so cold, give me something to cover it with."

So she took off her hood and gave it to him; and when she had walked a little farther, she met another child who had no jacket and was frozen with cold. Then she gave it her own; and a little farther on one begged for a frock, and she gave away that also.

At length she got into a forest and it had already become dark, and there came yet another child, and asked for a little shirt, and the good little girl thought to herself, "It is a dark night and no one sees thee, thou canst very well give thy little shirt away," and took it off, and gave away that also.

And as she so stood, and had not one single thing left, suddenly some stars from heaven fell down, and they were nothing else but hard smooth pieces of money, and although she had just given her little shirt away, she had a new one which was of the very finest linen.

Then she gathered together the money into this, and was rich all the days of her life.

 

Anonymous

The Friendly Beasts

Jesus our brother, kind and good, Was humbly born in a stable rude, And the friendly beasts around Him stood, Jesus our brother, kind and good. "I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown, "I carried His mother up hill and down, I carried her safely to Bethlehem town; I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown. "I," said the cow all white and red, "I gave Him my manger for His bed, I gave Him my hay to pillow His head. I," said the cow all white and red. "I," said the sheep with curly horn, "I gave Him my wool for His blanket warm; He wore my coat on Christmas morn; I," said the sheep with curly horn. "I," said the dove, from the rafters high, "I cooed Him to sleep so He would not cry; We cooed him to sleep, my mate and I; I," said the dove from the rafters high. Thus every beast by some good spell, In the stable dark was glad to tell, Of the gift he gave Immanuel, The gift he gave Immanuel.

 

The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus  by Amelia C. Houghton

Nicholas' First Red Suit

QUIRE KENSON, the richest man in the village, came driving up to Nicholas' cottage door one day, with a commission to carve a new chest for his youngest daughter, who was planning to be married. Nicholas was attracted by the sound of silver bells and reindeer's hoofs on the snow; he looked out of his window and saw the beautiful equipage the Squire traveled about in,—a shiny, red sleigh, drawn by two beautiful reindeer—Donder and Blitzen they were called by the children of the village, because they traveled so swiftly, like thunder and lightning. Nicholas gazed at the two beautiful animals and thought how much more rapidly they would carry him about on Christmas Eve than his old horse, who was getting slower and slower as the years went on.

Then Nicholas hastened to open the door for the Squire, who stated his errand briefly and gave directions about the size of the chest and when he expected it to be finished. All the while he was talking, the wood-carver was gazing admiringly at the fine suit of red deerskin his visitor was wearing. As he nodded and made notes of the instructions, his eyes missed no detail of the Squire's outfit; the suit was made in the fashion of the district—that is, the coat rather long and belted at the waist, the trousers loose and caught in at the calf by shining leather leggings. Soft, white ermine bound the coat at the collar, the cuffs, and around the bottom; the same beautiful fur was around the close-fitting red hat.

After the Squire had finished his errand, and had driven off, led by Donder and Blitzen's flying hoofs, Nicholas went on with the task in hand, but with his mind on the beautiful red suit.

"There's no reason why I can't have one, too," he said to himself. "I have all my winter supplies in and the wood all paid for, and there is still a bag of gold coin that I will never be able to spend. The Widow Arpen could well make use of some of it, and they say that she is the cleverest needlewoman in the village. I think I'll drive over there tomorrow and see what can be done. I've gone around looking like a poor orphan instead of a well-to-do wood-carver long enough."

So the next day Nicholas paid a visit to Widow Arpen's cottage.

"I want a fine red suit, Mistress Arpen," he stated. "You know the one the Squire wears?" The woman nodded. "Well, of course, I can't afford such fine, soft deerskin; besides, there's no time to have all that skin dressed and prepared; and I know very well I can't have mine trimmed with real ermine. Now what could you suggest?"

The widow thought a moment. "Well," she said finally, "we could get a good bolt of strong homespun from the weaver, and I could dye it myself. I have had a wonderful red from stewing rowan berries. Then I'm sure we could get enough pure white rabbit skins from Lief the trapper to trim the neck and cuffs. It would make a fine suit, and you'd look splendid in it, Nicholas."

Nicholas rose, well pleased with the plan for the work. He took out of his pocket a handful of gold coins and laid them on the table.

"There," he said, "I think that will take care of the material and the labor."

"But—but, Nicholas, it's more than enough!" the widow exclaimed. "Why, half of this would keep my family all through the winter."

"Then keep it, woman," smiled Nicholas. "You've had a hard time since your good man died to keep your little family warm and well fed. I have enough and to spare, so let's not quibble over a few gold coins. I'll not be the man to die with a chest of them found buried under my hearth-stone."

The widow stood at her door and watched Nicholas drive away through the snow. "Eh, there's a fine man," she murmured, the gold pieces jingling through her fingers. "A fine, big man."

So she bought the homespun, which she dyed a beautiful bright red. And then a strange thing happened. She had no pattern to go by, as Nicholas was wearing the only tunic he owned, and could spare no time from his work to have a fitting, so the widow cut and sewed the suit with the image of a fine, big man constantly before her. Nicholas was not a short man by any means, but he was rather thin, and yet as Mistress Arpen planned and pieced the suit together, she knew she was sewing for a fine, generous man, and made the suit to fit Nicholas' heart instead of his body.

On the day the work was finished, and the last loving stitch had been placed in the soft rabbit trimming, Nicholas arrived to try on his suit. He went into the widow's little inner room, and came out a few minutes later—and what a picture he made!

"I can't see it, Mistress Arpen," said Nicholas doubtfully, "for that little piece of glass in your room shows only a portion of me at a time. Yet it did seem to go on rather—rather loosely," he finished tactfully, not wishing to hurt her feelings.

The widow gave one look and burst into tears. "Oh, Nicholas, I've spoiled your suit; I've spoiled it! I thought you were bigger; whatever made me cut it so wide? Oh, what shall I do?"

Trying to comfort the woman, Nicholas forgot his own dismay at the size of his garments.

"There, we won't worry about it. Look, the length is all right. It's only that I'm not as fat as I might be. Why if I ate all the vegetables and meal the villagers send me, I'll warrant in a few months' time you'd never notice the extra cloth in this coat. And the trousers will be all right as soon as I buy a pair of leggings to stuff them in. And what a fine cap this is! See how close it fits, and how warm-looking this fur band is!"

"I'm not as fat as I might be."

So gradually he made the widow forget her disappointment, and to reassure her that he really did not mind the ludicrous figure he must make with his tall, gangly form clothed in loose, baggy folds, he insisted on wearing it home, and sat up high on the seat of his sleigh and seemed not to notice the stares and nudges of the villagers.

When he arrived home, however, he sat down in the huge suit and burst into loud laughter. "What a sight I'll make going around like this for months to come! And yet I'll have to wear it out; it would be sinful to waste good material."

Then another funny thought struck him. He slapped his knee and laughed again. "Perhaps I could even stuff some of my toys into my suit. How the children would laugh! But there's only one thing to be done. It's very clear that I'm too thin for my height. I shall really have to eat oatmeal in the morning instead of just a piece of bread; and I must drink more milk, and cook some of those vegetables that go to waste in the storeroom."

"I shall really have to eat oatmeal in the morning."

So Nicholas kept his big red suit, and soon the villagers became used to the tall figure in the bright red trousers and tunic, the close-fitting stocking-cap trimmed with white fur, and the shiny black leather belt and leggings. And what do you think happened after Nicholas had carefully eaten vegetables and milk week after week? His face became full and rosy, his chest filled out, his arms and legs grew more muscular and rounded, and he even began to acquire—whisper it—a belly!

 

Emilie Poulsson

The First Christmas

Once a little baby lay Cradled on the fragrant hay, Long ago on Christmas; Stranger bed a babe ne'er found, Wond'ring cattle stood around, Long ago on Christmas. By the shining vision taught, Shepherds for the Christ-child sought, Long ago on Christmas. Guided in a starlit way, Wise men came their gifts to pay, Long ago on Christmas. And to-day the whole glad earth Praises God for that Child's birth, Long ago on Christmas; For the Life, the Truth, the Way Came to bless the earth that day, Long ago on Christmas.

 

The Mexican Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

Christmas at the Hacienda

 

Eugene Field

Christmas Song

Why do bells for Christmas ring? Why do little children sing? Once a lovely, shining star, Seen by shepherds from afar, Gently moved until its light Made a manger's cradle bright. There a darling baby lay, Pillowed soft upon the hay; And its mother sang and smiled, "This is Christ, the holy Child." Therefore bells for Christmas ring, Therefore little children sing.

 

The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus  by Amelia C. Houghton

Donder and Blitzen

NE Christmas Eve Nicholas did not have such an easy time making his rounds of the village houses. To begin with, he was considerably amused and rather dismayed to discover that, instead of one embroidered bag for each house, the children had followed little Laurens' example, and had each put out a woolen stocking. So with some families having five or six children, there was often quite a row of stockings nailed up on the door. Of course, Nicholas could not very well put just one toy in each stocking, it made the rest of it look so flat and empty; but since he hadn't stocked his sleigh with enough gifts so that there would be several for each child, he found himself with an empty sleigh, and only half-way through his list!

"Lucky I have that extra supply of toys at home in the chest," he said to himself as he made a flying trip back to the cottage for more gifts. He loaded the sleigh again and started out once more, with the night half gone and his list not completed.

Poor old Lufka, his horse, tried his best, but he was getting old and could not make very fast progress through the heavy snow. He kept turning a patient head around at Nicholas, who spoke to him encouragingly. "Come on, now, lad; only two more houses. You can make it; the sleigh's not so heavy now with all that double load delivered."

Lufka wagged his head at his master's voice and tossed it in the air as though to say, "Yes, but tonight we had to make an extra trip back to the cottage, and when I thought I was going to be nicely bedded down for the night, off you went again! And I must say I like the snow better when there's a crust on top, instead of this heavy stuff. I'm always stumbling—there, now!"

Down went the good old beast into a ditch, and crack went one of the sleigh runners. Nicholas climbed down, and after reassuring himself that Lufka had no broken bones, shook his head ruefully at the sight of the old sleigh.

"I guess that's the end of that, old boy," he remarked to Lufka, who had stumbled upright and was now busy trying to flick the snow off with his tail. "Looks as though we'll have to get a new sleigh, and I'm afraid your traveling days are over, too. You're getting a little old for this heavy driving."

Nicholas had to finish his Christmas visits on foot, and the first rosy streaks of dawn were brightening the sky when he and Lufka finally returned to the cottage,—Nicholas, fat and rosy, puffing heavily; Lufka dragging his tired old bones straight to the door of his stable.

For many days after that particular Christmas Eve, the villagers and children who passed Nicholas' door noticed that he was not working at his bench. Instead, there could be heard sounds of hammering and sawing from the large shed where he kept his supply of wood and where he did the larger pieces of work which required more room.

The villagers said to each other, "Must be some beautiful bridal chest that keeps Nicholas so busy these days. Or maybe it's a boat he's building for himself," they joked.

Spring came, the late northern spring, and Nicholas was again seen at his work-bench. When curious townsfolk questioned him on his long, secret task of the winter, he would only shake his dark yellow head (the yellow was now beginning to show streaks of white) and say with a sly smile, "You'll see soon enough. Just you wait."

Soon, however, the villagers forgot their curiosity in a new, exciting piece of news which was spreading over the village. Nicholas heard most of it at his work-bench, where people of all ages gathered now and then to chat with the wood-carver.

"What's this I hear about the Squire, Otto?" Nicholas asked his old friend, with whom he had lived as a boy.

"Ah," said Otto, puffing contentedly at his pipe and settling down to a long gossip. "They say things haven't gone so well with him these past five years or more. First there were those ships of his that didn't come home; then they say that his overseer ran away with a good part of a year's rents . . ."

"Yes," put in old Hans Klinker, "then there was that matter of a mine that his son persuaded him to invest in."

"Too bad," they all sighed, with a sort of self-satisfied air that they would have done nothing so foolish with their  money, if they had ever had any to be foolish with.

"And now," continued Otto, leaning forward with the most interesting part of his story, "now he has to sell most of his lands and household goods to pay the creditors and start in again. Will you be going up to the sale tomorrow, Nicholas?"

Nicholas looked up from the piece of wood he was planing, to ask, "Now what would I be buying from the Squire? I don't want any more land, and I can make for myself as fine furniture as any he has in his house."

"He has some good animals up there," said old Hans. "Those two horses now, and that set of reindeer."

"True enough," said Nicholas, finally interested enough to put down his work. "Lufka's too old to be much help to me now. I think I might go up there with you boys tomorrow and see some of the excitement."

So the next morning found Nicholas in the center of an eager, curious crowd—farmers who hoped to get some of the Squire's good land cheap; fishermen who were interested in the two or three boats the Squire owned; housewives who thought they might like a chair or a table from such a fine household; and scores of others who had come along just to watch the rest of the crowd.

Nicholas wandered down to the stables, and was instantly surrounded by a group of men who knew he was interested in horses and were ready to give him much free advice.

Nicholas, however, walked past the stables where the horses were lodged, and made directly for the larger stalls.

"He's after Donder and Blitzen," the men whispered among themselves. "He always admired them, they went so fast."

Yes, there was Nicholas, his round figure in the bright red suit standing at the door of the stable, his hands on his roomy hips, gazing thoughtfully in at the darkened stalls. Two deer, inside, excited at the noises of the crowd, thrust their frightened heads through the top part of the door.

"Well," said Nicholas softly, "you poor beasties don't look much like thunder and lightning now. Not afraid of me, are you?" He put a reassuring hand on the larger deer's shoulder. The melting brown eyes looked trustingly into the blue ones. The deer whimpered and thrust its warm black nose into Nicholas' hand.

"I guess we'll get along all right," said Nicholas in a satisfied tone. "Now to find your master and see about this sale."

"Here's the Squire now," called out one of the men. "Nicholas wants to buy Donder and Blitzen, Squire."

The Squire, a bent old man with a worried look on his face, seemed dazed by this mob of people taking possession of his house and goods.

"Well, he can't have Donder and Blitzen, alone," he said almost fretfully. "That set of reindeer goes together or not at all. Why, Donder would go raving mad if you tried to separate her from the rest of her family."

"Family!" exclaimed Nicholas. "Why, Squire, I need only two reindeer. How many more . . ."

Suddenly there was a loud crash of breaking wood, a mad rush of people away from one of the stalls, and seemingly in one brown streak, there was a little reindeer running madly about the farmyard, pursuing one unfortunate villager who couldn't run as fast as the others.

"That's Vixen," shouted the old Squire, distracted. "Here, catch him quick. He's a young imp. He'll hurt somebody."

Everybody ran about in a frenzy, but Vixen was nimble, and even paused in his mad rush to look impudently over his shoulder at his pursuers. Then he would give a naughty toss of his head as if to say, "Come, catch me," and was off again, leaping over carts and farming implements, knocking a man's hat off with the young horns just beginning to grow, finally clearing a high fence with one bound, and paused panting on the other side to gaze through the bars mischievously at the hot, breathless group of men.

Everybody ran about in a frenzy.

Nicholas had not joined in the chase; he was standing at the door of the stalls, holding on to his fat stomach and shaking all over with mirth.

"I'll take the lot of them," he cried out. "I don't know what the others are like, but I must have that little Vixen. I haven't laughed so much in years. Why, just to see the neat way he clipped off Ivan Prosof's hat!" He went into another gale of laughter, then made his way through the crowd to the Squire, where he finally concluded the bargain, and acquired not two, but eight reindeer,—Donder and Blitzen, the mamma and papa, with their six children, Dasher and Dancer, Comet and Cupid, and Prancer and Vixen.

 

Christina Georgina Rossetti

A Christmas Carol

Before the paling of the stars, Before the winter morn, Before the earliest cock-crow Jesus Christ was born: Born in a stable Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands had made Born a stranger. Priest and King lay fast asleep In Jerusalem, Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem: Saint and Angel, ox and ass, Kept a watch together, Before the Christmas daybreak In the winter weather. Jesus on his Mother's breast In the stable cold, Spotless Lamb of God was He, Shepherd of the fold: Let us kneel with Mary Maid, With Joseph bent and hoary, With Saint and Angel, ox and ass. To hail the King of Glory.