The Santa Claus Brownies

By Ethel Calvert Phillips

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Title: The Santa Claus Brownies

Author: Ethel Calvert Phillips

Release date: November 14, 2024 [eBook #74737]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company

Credits: Susan E., David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SANTA CLAUS BROWNIES ***



[Illustration: SILVERTONGUE WAS FINISHING OFF A GREAT WHITE FURRY
RABBIT (_page 6_)]




  The Santa Claus
  Brownies

  BY
  ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS

  _With Illustrations_

  [Illustration]

  Boston and New York
  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
  The Riverside Press Cambridge
  1928




  COPYRIGHT, 1928, BY ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  The Riverside Press
  CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.




CONTENTS


  THE ROCKING-HORSE PONY WHO WANTED BLUE EYES      3

  THE GAY LITTLE TOWN OF BO-PEEP                  29

  BUTTONS AND BOOTS                               51

  THE BOOK OF GOOD CHILDREN                       73

  THE BROWNIE WHO FOUND CHRISTMAS                 97




THE ROCKING-HORSE PONY WHO WANTED BLUE EYES




THE ROCKING-HORSE PONY WHO WANTED BLUE EYES


It was a bright cold March morning and round the four corners of Santa
Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the North Pole the wind
swept blustering and shouting on his way.

It was so early in the morning that some of Santa Claus’s Brownies had
not yet finished their household tasks.

Little Crusty, oldest of the Brownies, who was in charge of the
reindeer and who, in spite of a snarled-up face, had a very tender
heart, was still busy in the stable, brushing the brown coats of the
eight tiny reindeer and making them glossy and neat for the day.

Down in the kitchen Sweet-Tooth, chief of the candy cooks, was showing
his tidy little band of helpers, each in white apron and cap, how to
make very-black licorice drops.

[Illustration]

‘Now that March is here some Brownie is sure to catch a Spring cold,’
said Sweet-Tooth, measuring and mixing with all his might, ‘and there
is nothing better than licorice drops for a cold in the Spring.’

Out in front of the Palace stood Nimbletoes, sweeping off the steps
with great strokes of his broom. Nimbletoes, who could run as fast and
jump as high as any Brownie who ever lived, was late with his work this
morning because he had been running and playing in the wind.

‘I could run for miles and miles this morning,’ said Nimbletoes with a
last little jump, ‘but I suppose I must finish my work. Here goes!’

And Nimbletoes made his arms fly round like the sails of a windmill as
he swept the steps with great wide flourishes of his broom.

All the other Brownies were hard at work in Santa Claus’s work-room,
making Christmas toys. Although December and Christmas seemed far away,
when you stop to think how many toys Santa Claus must have ready on
Christmas Eve, you will see why the Brownies were kept busy the whole
year long.

Kindheart was fitting a blue flannel jacket on a tiny baby doll.
Silvertongue was finishing off a great white furry rabbit, with
gleaming ruby-red eyes and the cunningest little bob-tail in the world.
Mischief was painting a gay yellow sled. Fleetfoot was whittling the
sticks of a drum. Santa Claus was fitting out a little boy’s tool box,
and very great pains he took with it, too.

Over in a corner sat Merrythought, the very best toy-maker of them all,
and beside him stood Sharpeyes, the little errand boy, who picked up
pins and threaded needles and found lost scissors for all the other
Brownies. But for the past week, as a special treat, Sharpeyes had been
working upon a toy, too. Merrythought had showed him how to make a
Rocking-Horse, and now the gay little prancing steed stood before them
finished, except for a leather bridle that Sharpeyes was trying to fit
into the Pony’s mouth.

He was a little brown Pony with a long brown tail and a wavy brown
mane. His mouth was a bright, bright red. He wore a yellow saddle
fastened by neat little straps. And in his head there sparkled two dark
brown eyes, quite the prettiest brown eyes, Sharpeyes thought, that a
little Pony had ever worn.

But, in spite of this, there was something about those pretty brown
eyes that did not please the Rocking-Horse Pony. And this is the way he
showed his feeling about it.

The first thing that morning, when Merrythought and Sharpeyes went to
work on the Rocking-Horse Pony, Sharpeyes said, ‘I think I will give
my Pony brown eyes, Merrythought, because they will match his brown
coat so well.’

So into the little Pony’s head went the dark brown eyes.

This was the first time the Pony had been able to see, you know, and
Sharpeyes and Merrythought both laughed to watch him stare in pleasure
and astonishment round the work-room, already fairly well filled with
toys.

The little Rocking-Horse Pony looked at Santa Claus, he looked at the
Brownies, he looked at the toys. Then slowly and taking plenty of time
the Rocking-Horse Pony began to rock himself all around the room.

He stopped before the woolly lambs and stared earnestly into their mild
brown eyes. He rocked round to the furry rabbits and gazed at their
eyes of ruby-red. He studied the pussy-cats and the toy dogs, the
tigers and the elephants, the Teddy bears with their eyes of yellow and
brown and black. But when he reached the corner where Kindheart was at
work upon his baby dolls, each one with eyes of beautiful bright blue,
then the Rocking-Horse Pony stood still before them and quite refused
to move.

He shook himself impatiently when Sharpeyes called him to come. He
did not turn his head when Merrythought snapped his fingers and said,
‘Here, Pony! Here, sir, come!’

He not only stood still before the dolls, but he looked and he looked
at their lovely blue eyes. And the next moment, with a wink and a
blink, the Pony’s own brown eyes flew out of his head and landed upon
the floor!

‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed Merrythought. ‘Put them in again, Sharpeyes,
as fast as you can.’

Into the little Pony’s head went the dark brown eyes again. But--would
you believe it?--in less than no time the brown eyes lay upon the floor
once more, and the pony’s red mouth wore a satisfied smile that seemed
to say, ‘Now see! I’ve done it again.’

‘I don’t like this,’ said Merrythought, shaking his head. ‘I never knew
eyes to fall out of a Pony’s head before.’

‘Perhaps I don’t put them in the right way,’ answered Sharpeyes,
looking troubled. ‘This is the first toy I have ever made. Watch me,
Merrythought, and see that I do it well.’

Merrythought and Sharpeyes both worked away until it seemed as if the
brown eyes would never come out again.

But in less than ten minutes not only were the eyes out of the Pony’s
head, but they were lost as well. Sharpeyes searched for almost half an
hour before he found them. And where do you think they were? You would
never, never guess. One of them was tucked in the corner of a doll
carriage under a pink-and-white wool cover. That was strange enough.
But the other eye was stuffed into the wide-open red mouth of a poor
little trumpeting elephant, who was so surprised that his thin gray
tail stood straight out with excitement and fright. This was stranger
and stranger still. It almost seemed as if the Pony had hidden them
on purpose himself, though no one could imagine how he had done such
a thing. A lively little toy monkey, who had been watching the Pony,
might have told something about it, if he had wished. But he didn’t
speak a word.

‘What ails my Pony, Merrythought?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I never knew toys
acted in this way. Do you think perhaps he doesn’t like his brown
eyes?’

‘Why wouldn’t he like his brown eyes?’ replied Merrythought. ‘He is
simply full of fun and likes a joke. But we must put those eyes in to
stay. Let us go and look for some of Mr. Mendham’s glue. He may have
left a little when he was here a year or so ago. There is no glue in
the world like Mr. Mendham’s.’

‘Mr. Mendham is a very fine Toy Tinker, isn’t he?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I
believe he could mend any broken toy. Do you remember the Christmas
time he and Mrs. Mendham came here to help Santa Claus make the toys?’

‘Of course I do,’ answered Merrythought, smiling at the question. ‘He
came to help because we Brownies were all ill in bed from eating too
many of Sweet-Tooth’s rich caramel creams.’

‘Does he live far from here?’ asked Sharpeyes. ‘I have never seen his
house.’

‘Not so far,’ was Merrythought’s reply. ‘Straight down past the Eskimo
village and then on to a little wood of evergreen trees. His house
stands there with a sign over the door. Now let us try to find a bit of
Mr. Mendham’s glue.’

Neither Sharpeyes nor Merrythought glanced at the Pony. If they had
they would have seen in a moment that he had listened to every word
they said.

At the words ‘Toy Tinker’ the Pony’s tail had begun to swish. When
Merrythought had told where Mr. Mendham lived, the Pony’s ears had
twitched to and fro. And no sooner did the Pony have a moment to
himself than over to the window he rocked and tried to push it open
with his little red nose. How he knew his way about without any eyes I
don’t know. And once he had opened the window, did he mean to jump out?

Nobody can tell. For Brownie Kindheart felt the cold air on his doll
babies and closed the window. And just then back came Merrythought and
Sharpeyes with a pot of Mr. Mendham’s glue. Neatly and firmly the brown
eyes were glued in, this time to stay, though the naughty little Pony
rocked and pranced to show that he did not like it at all.

But Sharpeyes was pleased.

‘He is a beautiful Pony,’ said Sharpeyes with pride. ‘I will put on his
bridle now and then he will be finished.’

But the Rocking-Horse Pony did not want to wear his bridle. He shut his
mouth tight and tossed his head. He rocked himself to and fro with a
thump and a bump. It was plain to be seen that the Rocking-Horse Pony
did not wish to wear a bridle. And with a sudden toss and jerk of his
head he managed to break the bridle quite in two.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Sharpeyes, unexpectedly tumbling backward and sitting
down hard upon the floor. ‘Oh! What shall we do?’

[Illustration]

‘Fetch a new bridle out of the store-room,’ answered Merrythought,
helping his friend to his feet. ‘Come along and I will show you where
they are.’

Now every one in the work-room was as busy as could be. No one saw
that Sharpeyes and Merrythought had left the room. Much less did they
notice the Rocking-Horse Pony, who now rocked quietly over to the door,
moved out into the hall, and started down the stairs with a thump!
thump! thump! Just as softly as he could manage, you may be sure.

The first one to spy the Rocking-Horse Pony was Nimbletoes, still busy
at sweeping the Palace front steps.

Down the steps behind Nimbletoes’ back bumped the Pony, and then off
he started over the snow at a rocking, galloping canter that surprised
even himself, it carried him over the ground at such a pace.

In the mean time Nimbletoes stood staring. He couldn’t believe his
eyes. For a whole half-minute he stood there, leaning on his broom, his
eyes and his mouth open wide.

Then Nimbletoes gave a great leap into the air.

‘Hi, there!’ he shouted up at the work-room windows. ‘Hi, there!
Sharpeyes! Merrythought! Your Pony has run away! Brownies! Brownies!
Come! Come!’

At this loud shouting all the Brownies, and Santa Claus, too, rushed
to the work-room windows and looked out. Up from the kitchen scampered
Sweet-Tooth, leaving the very-black licorice drops to his band of
little cooks. Out of the stable hurried little Crusty, his scarlet cap
tipped over one ear and the reindeer’s hair-brush clutched in his hand.

They all saw a strange sight--the Rocking-Horse Pony rocking swiftly
away over the snow and after him Brownie Nimbletoes, using his broom as
a staff, taking great flying leaps and bounds, the wind lifting him off
his feet time and time again.

‘My Pony! My Pony!’ called Sharpeyes, running toward the door. ‘Oh,
Merrythought! Oh, Brownies! Help me, do!’

At this, all the Brownies trooped after him, down the stairs, out the
front door, and over the snow, while Santa Claus stood on the steps,
laughing and waving them on.

‘Catch him, Brownies! Catch him!’ called Santa Claus. ‘Oh, what a race!’

A race it was! For the Rocking-Horse Pony seemed fairly to skim over
the ground, and behind him, blown by the wind and carried by their own
swift little feet, came the Brownies, every one, for Sweet-Tooth and
Crusty had joined them and were running quite as fast as any one else.

The Rocking-Horse Pony seemed to know where he wanted to go. On and
on he rocked over the ice and snow. Now he came to a group of low
round huts made of snow, where the Eskimos lived, fathers and mothers
and little boy and girl Eskimos, too. Smoke was pouring from the hole
in the top of each hut, and this smoke the wind caught and gayly blew
hither and yon. The little Eskimo boys and girls, bundled in fur, ran
out of the huts, their long-haired dogs barking at their heels, and
they all, children and dogs, stared in amazement at the galloping
Rocking-Horse Pony who was followed so closely by the gay band of
Brownies, laughing and shouting and waving their arms as they sped by.

Now came the evergreen trees, tall and thick and green, and the
Rocking-Horse Pony and the Brownies found themselves racing through a
dense little wood.

‘I know where he is going!’ shouted Nimbletoes, who, with Brownie
Fleetfoot, was running well in the lead. ‘I believe he is going to Mr.
Mendham’s house!’

[Illustration]

The news was passed down the line until the last one in the procession,
little old Crusty, heard the tidings.

‘He is going to Mr. Mendham’s, we all believe!’

Soon the Brownies set up another shout.

‘There is Mr. Mendham’s house! We are right! Sharpeyes’ Pony is going
to Mr. Mendham’s house.’

Between two tall trees before them there stood a little house, a
little white house with a bright red chimney, green window-boxes, and a
green front door. Over the door hung a sign--

  MR. MENDHAM
  TOY TINKER

[Illustration]

The Brownies saw the Rocking-Horse Pony take the knocker on the green
front door in his mouth and rap smartly--Rap-a-tap-tap! There was no
answer, so the Rocking-Horse Pony gently pushed the door open and
rocked inside. The door shut behind him with a thump.

Now out behind the house, busily hanging up a basketful of clothes,
were Mr. and Mrs. Mendham. They spied the Brownies, they came running
forward, and when they heard about the Rocking-Horse Pony they crept
into the house on tiptoe, followed by the Brownies, to see what the
Pony was doing now.

There he was in Mr. Mendham’s work-room, rocking round and round,
looking for something with all his might and main. He looked high, he
looked low, he even looked in the corners and on the floor. But at last
he gave up the search and stood still in the middle of the room, and
the Brownies and Mr. and Mrs. Mendham saw that the tears were rolling
down his little brown face. He looked as if his heart was broken. What
was the matter with the Rocking-Horse Pony?

The mended toys in the work-room were trying to help the little brown
Pony.

‘I know Mr. Mendham keeps his eyes in that basket over there,’ said a
black-and-white dog with a bright red tongue, ‘but, as you can see, he
hasn’t a blue eye left, not one.’

‘He put his last blue eyes in my head,’ said a big white furry kitten,
who had a golden bell tied about his neck. ‘For my part I don’t like
blue eyes. I prefer green. They shine so well in the dark. If Mr.
Mendham will give me green eyes, you may have my blue.’

At this kind offer all the toys began to call out, ‘Mr. Mendham! Mr.
Mendham!’

So Mr. Mendham and the Brownies trooped into the room.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted blue eyes?’ asked Sharpeyes as he
wiped the tears from his little Pony’s face. ‘Of course you shall have
them if Mr. Mendham is willing to make the change.’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ agreed Mr. Mendham, who was a kind-hearted man.
‘Green eyes always look well in a cat, and there is no reason why this
Pony shouldn’t have blue eyes, though I will say I never gave them to a
Rocking-Horse before.’

‘Blue eyes are so beautiful,’ murmured the Rocking-Horse Pony. ‘I
couldn’t bear to think of starting out next Christmas Eve with brown
eyes in my head.’

So Mr. Mendham made the change in a twinkling.

The white cat was more than satisfied with his new green eyes.

‘They have a fine sparkle and gleam,’ he purred, with a proud wave of
his tail. ‘Blue eyes are too girlish for me.’

And the Rocking-Horse Pony was happier than words can tell. He smiled,
he rocked, he bumped about in a very ecstasy of joy. When the time
came, he rocked home, with Sharpeyes on his back, in a very whirl of
pleasure.

‘Blue eyes! Blue eyes!’ he sang to himself as he bumped over the snow.

When Sharpeyes showed the Pony to Santa Claus and told him what had
happened, Santa Claus laughed and rubbed the Rocking-Horse Pony upon
his soft brown nose.

‘I know a little boy who likes blue eyes the very best of all,’ said
Santa Claus, ‘and you shall go to live with him next Christmas, if you
wish.’

When he heard this, the Rocking-Horse Pony was so happy he thought his
heart would burst with joy.

So if, next Christmas, you meet a little boy who has a Rocking-Horse
Pony with bright blue eyes, you may know that the Pony was made by
Brownie Sharpeyes and that he came down on Christmas Eve in Santa
Claus’s sleigh straight from the Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the
North Pole.




THE GAY LITTLE TOWN OF BO-PEEP




THE GAY LITTLE TOWN OF BO-PEEP


Santa Claus stood on the front steps of his Snow Palace at the very
tip-top of the North Pole.

Softly, very softly, the great door behind him swung open and out
rushed the Brownies, pulling on their scarlet caps, fastening their
mittens, and laughing and shouting and calling as they came.

‘Santa Claus! Santa Claus!’ shouted the Brownies. ‘Here we come, Santa
Claus! Here we all come!’

‘What does this mean?’ asked Santa Claus in surprise, his eyes
twinkling with fun. ‘Why aren’t you hard at work upstairs, making toys?
Come, come, now!’

And Santa Claus laughed in spite of himself to see his Brownies turning
somersaults in the soft snow.

‘Oh, Santa Claus, we want a holiday!’ shouted the Brownies. ‘We don’t
feel like working at all. We want a holiday, Santa Claus. Do say that
we may.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ nodded Santa Claus, laughing again to see his
Brownies’ antics in the snow. ‘You will work all the better for a
little fun. Be off, every one.’

So off they went, three by three, each little group of Brownies with a
plan of its own.

Sharpeyes, the little errand boy, Merrythought, the very best toy-maker
of them all, and little Crusty, who was in charge of the reindeer, ran
off to call on a nearby family of seals.

Mischief, Nimbletoes, and Fleetfoot scampered down to a great smooth
stretch of snow back of the stable where the eight tiny reindeer lived.

‘We want to run races, Santa Claus,’ called they, ‘more than anything
else in the world.’

Kindheart, Silvertongue, and Sweet-Tooth, chief of the candy cooks,
stood for a moment wondering just where they would go.

‘We mean to take a long walk,’ said Silvertongue to Santa Claus, who
stood by their side. ‘Tell us where to go, Santa Claus, for we don’t
know.’

‘Have you ever been to the Town of Bo-Peep?’ asked Santa Claus. ‘I
would go there, if I were you. It used to be a gay, merry little Town,
but you will find it very different now. Stay as long as you like.
There may be some work for you to do.’

So the three Brownies set off for the Town of Bo-Peep.

‘It is too far to walk all the way,’ said Santa Claus. ‘You had better
borrow my handkerchief for a sail.’

A gentle breeze was blowing, and as the Brownies held up Santa Claus’s
great white handkerchief, with S.C. embroidered in the corner, the wind
filled the handkerchief like a sail and took them steadily along.

It was great fun to skim over the ground and surprising to see how
quickly they traveled. They soon left the cold and snow behind.
Presently the grass grew green and the sun shone warm and the three
little Brownies put down the great handkerchief and tripped merrily
along the road hand in hand.

‘I smell the sea,’ said Sweet-Tooth, who, being a cook, had a very
sharp nose.

On they ran, and at a turn in the road they came upon the sea, wide and
blue and sparkling under a summer sky. Far out in the water stood a
Lighthouse. Below the road stretched the beach, a long curve of firm,
white sand, and back of the beach lay the little Town of Bo-Peep.

It was a pretty little Town with red roofs and chimney pots, and each
little house had its own gay little garden plot.

But the Town was quiet, no one walked about the streets. And though the
tide was low and the cool wet sand lay bare, not a single child was
playing on the beach.

‘They have all gone away,’ said Kindheart. ‘The Town seems empty
to-day.’

‘Perhaps they have gone on a picnic,’ suggested Silvertongue, ‘or for a
sail across the bay.’

But Sweet-Tooth shook his head.

‘The mothers are at home,’ said he. ‘I can see the smoke rising from
the chimneys and I think I can smell baking bread.’

‘Let us go down into the town,’ said Kindheart, ‘and look about. Santa
Claus said there might be work to do.’

Down in the town the three little Brownies walked quietly along, past
the neat houses, past the gay flower-beds, until they came to a little
shop, and here the Brownies stood stock still on the sandy road.

It was a Candy Shop. At least a big sign over the door said so. But the
blinds were pulled down and the door was shut tight and there was a
card in the window that read

  NO CANDY SOLD HERE

The Brownies looked at one another. Sweet-Tooth’s face wore a horrified
look. He couldn’t speak. He managed to peep under the window-shade, but
all the window held was a dismal row of empty glass candy jars.

‘It must be there are no children in the Town,’ said Silvertongue in a
low voice.

And Kindheart and Sweet-Tooth could only nod their heads in reply.

A few steps beyond the Candy Shop they came upon another little store.
‘TOY SHOP’ was painted on the window. But here too the blinds were down
and the door locked fast and thick dust covered the doorstep and the
window-ledge. Kindheart stood on tiptoe and read a card tacked on the
door.

  NO TOYS SOLD HERE

‘What can be the matter?’ whispered the Brownies. ‘Who ever heard
before of a Town where no children lived?’

Down on the beach crept the Brownies and here strange signs were
sprinkled as thick as blackberries wherever they might look.

  NO PADDLING ON THIS BEACH

said a bright blue sign stuck in the sand here and there.

The Brownies read this aloud and tears came into gentle Kindheart’s
eyes.

‘I never saw a better beach for paddling,’ said he, wiping away his
tears with the back of his hand.

‘Listen to this!’ cried Silvertongue, standing before a scarlet sign
that was repeated all along the shore.

  NO SAND BUILDING ALLOWED

read the scarlet sign in great black letters that all could see.

‘What about this?’ called Sweet-Tooth, capering before a green sign
over which he had just stubbed his toe.

  NO DIGGING ON THIS BEACH

‘That is what the sign says. But I can’t believe it. I am going
straight through this Town until I see what they have done with the
children here.’

The Brownies did not have far to go to find the children. A stone’s
throw from the beach stood the school-house, a dingy red brick building
with a tall iron fence all roundabout.

Under the fence squeezed the Brownies. They wanted to read a great
golden sign over the school-house door.

  THIS SCHOOL OPEN FROM
  NINE UNTIL SIX O’CLOCK

Sweet-Tooth read the sign aloud and would have tumbled to the ground in
his surprise if Silvertongue and Kindheart had not caught him by the
arm.

‘That means all day!’ gasped Sweet-Tooth. ‘They have to go to school
all day!’

Through the school-house window they could see the heads of the
children, little brown and yellow and black heads, both curly and
straight. Indeed one little red head lay on the window-sill, fast
asleep.

‘Tired out, and no wonder,’ murmured Silvertongue, which was a very
harsh speech for him.

Out of the window floated the voices of the children droning sleepily
over and over again--

  ‘Two times one are two,
   Two times two are four,
   Two times three are six.’

The Brownies didn’t speak another word that afternoon. They sat down
round the corner of the school-house with their backs against the wall
and watched the clock in the church tower tick the sunny hours away.

At last the clock struck six.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The school-house door opened and out trooped the children. As they
started home, the Brownies followed and watched them as they went.

Some of them peeped in the Toy Shop window and rattled the latch. Some
of them stood on tiptoe and knocked the knocker on the Candy Shop door.
Some of them ran away from their big brothers and sisters and sat on
the beach and made holes in the sand with their fingers and piled up
little heaps. And some of the children even ran down and put their toes
in the water, they did so want a little pleasure and fun.

But their big brothers and sisters were frightened.

‘The King will see you!’ said they. ‘Come home! The King will catch
you!’

So the Children were taken home, and soon after their supper the
candles were lighted in their bedrooms and the Brownies could see the
children in their night-gowns going to bed.

As it grew dusk, the Brownies sat flat on the lonely beach with no one
but the sandpipers and the seagulls to keep them company.

What did it all mean? Who was the King? Why were the children treated
so?

The light in the Lighthouse across the bay blazed out and Kindheart
sprang to his feet.

‘I am going to borrow that little boat,’ said he, pointing to a white
boat pulled up on the beach, ‘and row over to the Lighthouse. Perhaps
some one there can tell us what it is all about.’

When they reached the Lighthouse two figures ran down to the shore and
helped them from the boat.

One was that of a little man who smelled strongly of peppermint candy.

‘He is the Candy Man,’ said Sweet-Tooth in a flash. And so he proved to
be.

The other figure was that of a neat little lady who held a half-made
doll’s dress in her hand.

‘The Toy Lady,’ said Silvertongue and Kindheart in a breath. And this
was so too.

The Candy Man and the Toy Lady both talked at once, they were so
excited at seeing the Brownies and so anxious to tell their tale.

‘It is the new King’s fault,’ said they, together. ‘He won’t have a bit
of noise. He doesn’t want the children to romp and be noisy, and that
is why they must go to school all day and never play on the beach. That
is why he sent us over here to live. He doesn’t want the children to
eat candy nor to play with toys. All the King does from morning till
night is to think of different things we mustn’t do and then make
signs to tell us so. Bo-Peep Town used to be a gay and merry place to
live in, but now we are miserable, just miserable. And the children
simply long to have us come back again.’

The Brownies and the Toy Lady and the Candy Man sat up almost all night
talking things over. Of course matters couldn’t go on as they were. And
once they had made up their minds what to do, they fell to work.

For two days and nights they worked as hard as ever they could. The
Candy Man and Sweet-Tooth made candy, all kinds. Silvertongue and
Kindheart and the Toy Lady made toys--boats and pails and shovels and
all sorts of sand toys, fish and stars and patty-pans and cones.

Then early one morning, when it was darkest, just before dawn, they
filled their little boat with toys and candy and rowed over to the
mainland.

The Brownies first helped the Toy Lady and the Candy Man to open their
little shops and place the toys and candy inside.

Then Silvertongue and Kindheart and Sweet-Tooth stole into the Palace
and up to the bedroom where the King and his little Queen lay sleeping
side by side.

They were thoughtful little Brownies, you must admit. They packed a bag
of clothes for the King and Queen. They even remembered their golden
crowns and put them in too.

Then they carried the sleeping King and Queen down to the little boat,
rowed them over to the Lighthouse, and left them there.

Next morning when the children went to school there was a new sign on
the door.

  NO SCHOOL TO-DAY

Some one spied the Toy Shop. The door was wide open. The window was
filled with brand-new toys, and a fresh sign was fluttering in the
breeze.

  PENNY TOYS SOLD HERE

At first the children crowded round and stared. Then they sped to the
Candy Shop. That was wide open, too, every glass jar filled to the brim
with the most delicious candy ever seen.

‘The sign! The sign!’ shrieked the children.

There it was, shining and new.

  PENNY CANDY SOLD HERE

Down to the beach ran the children, screaming as they ran. They were so
excited they had forgotten the King.

The beach was covered with glittering new signs.

  PLEASE PADDLE ON THE
  BEACH

  GOOD SAND FOR BUILDING
  HERE

  KINDLY DIG ON THIS BEACH

The children scarcely knew what to do first. Some ran to the Toy Shop,
others to the Candy Man to taste his fine new wares. How glad they were
to see their old friends, the Toy Lady and the Candy Man, once more!
Some of the children settled down to dig, some of them fell to building
in the sand, while many of them pulled off their shoes and stockings
and happily splashed and paddled about in the cool green waves.

Every one took a holiday, fathers and mothers too. And that night, when
dusk fell, they were still romping and playing and enjoying themselves
on the beach.

Suddenly, out blazed the light from the Lighthouse and the figures of
the King and the Queen stood on the shore.

‘We like it here!’ shouted the King, making a great deal of noise for
such a quiet man. ‘We mean to stay! It is quiet here! We never want to
live in the Town again!’

The King and the Queen waved their hands good-bye. They had reached the
Lighthouse door when the King turned back.

‘Our crowns!’ he shouted. ‘You may have them! We don’t want them any
more!’

And he tossed them one by one into the sea.

When the crowns came floating in on the beach, the people picked them
up and gave them to the Toy Lady and the Candy Man.

‘Please be our King and Queen,’ said they.

But the Toy Lady and the Candy Man shook their heads.

‘I would rather sell toys than be a Queen,’ said the Toy Lady.

‘I would rather make candy than be a King,’ said the Candy Man.

So, since they had no King nor Queen, the people locked the front door
of the Palace and threw the key away. The crowns they fastened over the
Toy Shop and the Candy Shop because they looked well hanging there.

Bo-Peep Town became overnight what it had always been before, a gay and
lively and pleasant place in which to live.

And Silvertongue and Kindheart and Sweet-Tooth went home happy, but not
any more happy than Santa Claus when he heard what they had done.




BUTTONS AND BOOTS




BUTTONS AND BOOTS


It was the middle of the night. All the Brownies, and Santa Claus, too,
were fast asleep in their beds in the Snow Palace at the very tip-top
of the North Pole.

It was a cold, frosty night. ‘Whoo-oo-oo! Whoo-oo-oo!’ sang the West
Wind round the chimneys, in such a chilly voice, with a tinkle of ice
in it, that the Brownies snuggled down under their covers and pulled
the bed-quilts up about their ears.

All the Brownies were fast asleep, I said. But, as the great clock
in the hall downstairs slowly boomed out the hour of twelve, Brownie
Fleetfoot opened his bright black eyes.

‘Ugh! How cold it is!’ shivered Brownie Fleetfoot, trying to roll
himself into a ball. ‘It wasn’t so cold when I went to bed. I wonder
what the Moon is laughing at up there in the sky. He likes to see me
freeze, I guess.’

For a great silver Moon, with a broad smile on his face, was looking
straight in the window at Fleetfoot, and it did seem as if he were
laughing at some joke of his own.

‘I will shut my eyes and count ten,’ said Fleetfoot to himself, ‘and
then I will look at the Moon again to see if he is still laughing at
me.’

He shut his black eyes with a snap. Slowly he counted up to ten. But
when he opened his eyes again he forgot the Moon entirely.

For beside his bed stood a little figure dressed in snowy white.
He wore a glittering cap trimmed with a frosty plume, and over his
shoulder, like a soldier’s musket, he carried a paint-brush, long and
slim.

‘Jack Frost!’ exclaimed Fleetfoot, sitting up in surprise. ‘Jack Frost!
What are you doing here? No wonder I was so cold with you standing
beside my bed. That was why the Moon laughed in at me, I suppose. He
saw you all the while.’

‘Yes, he did,’ nodded Jack Frost, unbuttoning his snowy white coat.
‘How warm it is in here! He watched me slip through the crack in the
window. It made him laugh, too, because I have been tickling you with
an icicle trying to wake you up. Put on your clothes, Fleetfoot, and
come along with me. I have a piece of work for you to do.’

Jack Frost and Santa Claus and the Brownies were old, old friends. Jack
Frost was always glad to do Santa Claus a good turn, such as making
Christmas Day bright and cold, with plenty of snow and ice for the boys
and girls with new snow-shoes and sleds and skates. On the other hand,
as every one knows, all Brownies, and of course Santa Claus’s Brownies,
too, are never so happy as when they are being helpful and kind. These
Brownies at the North Pole were quite used to being called upon, day or
night, to do some kind or thoughtful act.

Fleetfoot was not surprised, therefore, when he heard that Jack Frost
had a piece of work for him to do. He dressed in a twinkling. It took
him only a moment to slip into his neat little suit, draw on his
pointed Brownie shoes, and pull his scarlet Brownie cap well down over
his ears.

‘I am ready,’ he whispered, creeping over to the door.

But Jack Frost laid a chilly little hand on his arm.

‘Bring a bell with you,’ murmured Jack Frost in the Brownie’s ear. ‘You
will need to use a bell to-night.’

‘A bell?’ whispered back Fleetfoot. ‘What kind of bell? A dinner bell?
A bicycle bell?’

‘No,’ answered Jack Frost, his finger on his lips, ‘a cat’s bell. Hush!’

For Brownie Mischief had flung out his arms and tossed his quilt off on
the floor, and Sharpeyes had turned over with a long, long sigh.

Fleetfoot crept on tiptoe into the work-room and without a sound untied
a silver bell from the neck of a drowsy white fur cat.

Then he and Jack Frost stole downstairs and out of the house without
being seen by a single person except the friendly Moon, who not only
smiled as he watched them, but followed them on their journey all the
way.

‘Now, we can talk,’ said Jack Frost, as hand in hand they sped over the
snow. ‘Let me tell you why I came after you to-night.’

Brownie Fleetfoot nodded his red-capped head. This was just what he
wanted to know, of course.

‘In the first place,’ began Jack Frost, ‘Buttons has lost Boots.’

Here he paused for a moment to shift his paint-brush from one shoulder
to the other, but Fleetfoot was too wise to interrupt by a question. He
knew what a sharp little fellow Jack Frost could be if he wished.

‘Buttons is a little boy,’ went on Jack Frost, taking a tight hold on
Fleetfoot’s hand. ‘He has a new winter coat trimmed with brass buttons.
And, too, his eyes are as round as buttons and so are his nose and his
mouth. All this may be why he is called Buttons. I can’t say. Boots
is his cat. It is easy to tell where he gets his name, for he wears a
white fur boot on each foot.’

Brownie Fleetfoot didn’t answer, for at that moment he tumbled
headlong into a drift of snow. He lay there kicking until Jack Frost
pulled him out and gently shook him to brush him off.

‘Try to keep your eyes open,’ said Jack Frost, tweaking the end of
Fleetfoot’s nose. ‘And now come along. I was in Buttons’ front yard
to-night painting his maple tree yellow and red,’ continued Jack Frost,
‘and a very pretty tree it is going to be. The night was as quiet as
quiet could be, not a sound, when, all of a sudden, out of the door
like a flash came Boots and shot off round the house as fast as he
could go. He didn’t stop for anything. I could hear the bell on his
neck tinkling all the way to the top of Butternut Hill. That is a high
hill just back of Buttons’ house. Look out for that ice, Fleetfoot! Do
you want to tumble down?’

The little Brownie laughed and shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t hurt me if
I did,’ said saucy Fleetfoot, but under his breath so that Jack Frost
couldn’t hear.

‘In no time at all,’ went on Jack Frost, ‘out of the house came Buttons
himself in his night-clothes and no slippers, enough to give him his
death of cold. And he started to hunt for Boots.’

‘It is lucky his mother didn’t see him,’ said Fleetfoot. ‘You know how
particular mothers are about coats and sweaters and rubbers and all.’

‘Yes, I know,’ answered Jack Frost shortly. Perhaps he thought it was
partly his fault that mothers behaved so. At any rate, he didn’t seem
pleased. ‘Don’t interrupt, Fleetfoot. Of course Buttons hadn’t heard
the bell going up Butternut Hill, so where does he go to look for
Boots but round the barn. He thought Boots was after mice, I suppose.
Well, I did my best to make Buttons go up Butternut Hill. I whispered
in his ear, but he couldn’t understand a word I said. He thought I
was the wind blowing. Think of that! Then I rubbed my icicle over his
nose and gave his cheeks and his toes a little pinch. But that didn’t
help either. He kept walking round and round the barn calling, “Boots!
Boots!” and saying, “Ouch!” every time he stepped on a sharp stone with
his bare feet.’

‘Poor Buttons!’ murmured Fleetfoot, looking down at his own pointed
Brownie shoes that were helping him speed so swiftly over the ground.
‘Poor Buttons! He must have hurt his toes.’

‘Yes, he did,’ answered Jack Frost, a trifle sharply. ‘But I couldn’t
help that, you know. Now I am so busy this Autumn weather that I
couldn’t spend any more time on him. So I hurried up Butternut Hill,
and there at the top, huddled in a tree, sat Boots. The foolish fellow
had dreamed that a dog was chasing him. I heard him say so, talking
to himself. There he sat and wouldn’t come down. Dream or no dream,
he was afraid that the dog was at the foot of the hill. I pinched him
and nipped him on ears and nose and toes, but still he wouldn’t move
for me. I find that cats never are friendly with me,’ said Jack Frost
thoughtfully, and a trifle sadly, too. ‘They are too fond of the fire
and their comfort to like me very well.’

‘Perhaps,’ answered Fleetfoot, trying to be both honest and kind; ‘but
you mustn’t mind that, you know. Think how fond of you our reindeer
are, and all the Polar Bears. But what is it you want me to do, Jack
Frost? You said you had brought me down here to help.’

‘We must send Buttons back to bed as soon as we can,’ was Jack Frost’s
answer. ‘I am a little worried about him. He will catch a cold, I am
afraid, out in his night-clothes this frosty night. And this is how I
want you to help. I thought you could play you were Boots, Fleetfoot.
You Brownies can do anything, I know. You could ring your bell and run
on ahead and lead Buttons straight up Butternut Hill to where the real
Boots sits in a tree. I chose you, Fleetfoot, because you could run so
lightly and so fast. Once Buttons has found Boots, he will carry him
home to bed. There isn’t anything else that he can do. And that will
be the end of it, I hope. Just think of my being so busy to-night and
having to stop for a boy and a cat.’

Here Jack Frost shook his paint-brush so impatiently that Fleetfoot
skipped along at his side faster than ever before.

‘Don’t I hear Buttons calling?’ asked Fleetfoot presently, as they
stopped a moment for breath. ‘I hear some one calling, “Boots! Boots!
Boots!”’

‘Yes, that is Buttons’ voice,’ answered Jack Frost; ‘I hear him too.
Now I will keep out of the way, for I am afraid of giving Buttons a
chill, and you lead him up the hill to Boots as fast as you can go.’

All this seemed great fun to Fleetfoot. He watched the little figure in
white creeping round and round the barn calling, ‘Boots! Boots! Come
home, Boots!’ Then he pulled from his pocket the silver bell he had
taken from the neck of the drowsy white fur cat.

Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!

Fleetfoot crouched close to the ground and rang the bell at Buttons’
feet.

‘Boots!’ called Buttons with a little jump. ‘Where are you? I hear your
bell.’

‘Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!’ called the bell a little farther away, and as
Buttons started toward it, Fleetfoot cried, ‘Me-ow!’ in such a natural
way that it is no wonder Buttons felt sure it was the voice of the
missing Boots.

Round the barn and round the house they went, the bell calling,
‘Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!’ and Buttons following close behind. Up
Butternut Hill they climbed, Buttons quite forgetting his tender toes
in his eagerness to catch his little friend. Up and up they went. Every
time that Fleetfoot cried, ‘Me-ow!’ Buttons would run faster than
before.

At last the top of the hill was reached and Fleetfoot and Buttons both
spied Boots sitting on the branch of a tree, his eyes gleaming in the
darkness like green lamps and every hair standing straight out with
excitement and fright.

‘Oh, Boots! Boots!’ cried Buttons, standing at the foot of the tree and
stretching up his arms. ‘Come down! Come down! We are all alone. There
is no one here but me.’

Fleetfoot wanted to laugh as he peeped from behind the roots of the
tree. All alone, were they? Not to mention himself, over the top of a
bayberry bush Fleetfoot could see the white plume in Jack Frost’s cap.
He had followed them all the way up the hill. Indeed, Boots and Buttons
were not alone.

But neither Jack Frost nor Fleetfoot stirred nor made a sign. They both
wanted Boots and Buttons to run home at once.

Slowly down the trunk of the tree crept Boots. Tenderly he was gathered
into Buttons’ arms. Down the hill started Buttons on his way toward
home.

Close behind them came Fleetfoot watching Buttons’ every step.

‘Dear me, those bare toes!’ thought he to himself. ‘How I wish he was
safe at home!’

Every time Buttons stepped on a stone and cried, ‘Ouch!’ Fleetfoot
winced as if his own tiny toes had been hurt. Brownies are the kindest
little people in the world and their hearts are very tender, you must
know.

Behind them, lurking in the shadows, marched Jack Frost, carrying his
paint-brush like a banner, and stopping now and then to paint a scarlet
spray on a bush or to trace with white the leaves of a late wayside
flower. Jack Frost felt happy. He had been troubled about Buttons,
wandering out in his night-clothes on this frosty night. But now, with
the help of Fleetfoot, he had started Buttons toward home. In five
minutes, if Buttons kept straight on, the little boy would be tucked
snugly in his own warm bed.

But Buttons didn’t keep straight on. Suddenly, to every one’s surprise,
he sat down by the side of the road.

‘Ouch! Ouch!’ cried Buttons, rocking to and fro. ‘I have hurt my toe
again. Ouch! Ouch! Oh! Oh! I can’t walk another step. Let us stay here,
Boots, and go to sleep. I am so tired. We can go home in the morning.’

And burying his face in Boots’ fur, poor, tired Buttons fell fast
asleep.

‘This won’t do! This won’t do!’ scolded Jack Frost, hurrying up and
shaking his paint-brush as if he would sweep Boots and Buttons down the
road. ‘This will never do! Come, Fleetfoot, come! We must get home at
once.’

‘Yes, yes,’ answered Fleetfoot soothingly, sitting down beside Buttons
and quickly pulling off his own pointed Brownie shoes. ‘See, Jack
Frost, I will put my own Brownie shoes on Buttons’ feet. Just like
this. Now I will pull Boots down on the ground and climb on his back,
so. Whoa, Boots, whoa! Now, Jack Frost, take your icicle and poke
Buttons until he wakes. Wake up, Buttons, wake up! Open your eyes!
Good! Now, let’s run!’

And, sure enough, off they started. Boots ran like the wind, his bell
all a-tinkle, his ears pointing skyward, his tail and his whiskers
standing out straight. On his back rode Fleetfoot, holding on by the
cat’s collar, and ringing his own bell wildly as he rode. Behind them
sped Buttons, the Brownie shoes carrying him over the ground faster
than he had ever run before. Close at his side came Jack Frost, poking
him with his icicle now and then, though there wasn’t the slightest
need.

It was the funniest race the silver Moon had ever looked down upon. No
wonder he laughed until the stars all crowded round to see too.

Home at last! Jack Frost gave a great sigh of relief as Buttons
vanished into the house and up the stairs to bed. Boots like a shadow
ran at his heels.

‘Just a moment,’ said Jack Frost, as he and Fleetfoot stared up at the
dark and silent house, ‘until I see that they are really safe.’

Like a flash Jack Frost disappeared, and when he came back, as suddenly
as he had gone, his face was all a-smile.

‘Fast asleep already,’ said he. ‘They were both tired out. Now,
Fleetfoot, you must go home. You had better ride back on the Wind, I
think. You have run enough for one night. Tell Santa Claus you were a
great help. I never could have got those two home if it hadn’t been
for you. Good-bye! I must go back to work. This maple tree isn’t half
finished. Look at the green leaves I must paint to-night.’

Jack Frost with a flourish of his paint-brush disappeared among the
maple boughs as Fleetfoot climbed upon the shoulder of the friendly
West Wind.

They were halfway home, sweeping along through the air, when Fleetfoot
suddenly cried out.

‘My shoes!’ cried Fleetfoot. ‘My shoes! I have left them on Buttons’
feet. What will Buttons think in the morning when he sees my Brownie
shoes?’

The West Wind didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t know what to say. As for
the Moon, he was still smiling. He made Fleetfoot smile too.

‘That is the best thing to do,’ said Fleetfoot. ‘Laugh about it.
Probably that is what Buttons will do to-morrow morning when he sees my
funny shoes.’

And Fleetfoot was right. That is just what Buttons did.




THE BOOK OF GOOD CHILDREN




THE BOOK OF GOOD CHILDREN


There was once a little boy whom every one called the Little Brown Boy.
This was because his name was Brown and because his hair and his eyes
were dark brown, too.

Of course he had another name, indeed, he had two--William John. But
no one except his mother and father, and his aunts and uncles, and the
minister, when he came to tea, ever called him anything but the Little
Brown Boy.

One night the Little Brown Boy lay in bed as wide awake as ever he
could be. He had been so sleepy when his mother put him to bed that he
couldn’t stand up straight to take off his clothes. But once tucked in
bed and his mother gone downstairs, the Little Brown Boy’s eyes flew
open and he felt as lively as if it were morning instead of his usual
bed-time, seven o’clock.

The Little Brown Boy looked from his bed out of the open window at the
tree-tops that were tossing and nodding in a gay West Wind. Down from
the trees whirled the Autumn leaves, red and yellow and russet-brown,
flying and falling here and there, rustling where they fell.

Bump! Bump! Bump!

The Little Brown Boy knew what that sound meant. Nuts were blowing off
the great walnut tree that stood over the way from the Little Brown
Boy’s house.

Whisk! Scrabble! Rush!

That was a squirrel traveling over the roof, as the Little Brown Boy
well knew.

In the next room, through the half-open door, the Little Brown
Boy could see his toys lying about on the floor. There was his
Jack-in-the-Box, looking very uncomfortable, indeed, with his head
hanging over the side of the box almost touching the ground. There
was his Jumping Jack, tossed in a corner, arms and legs stretched out
to jump, and a tired look upon his little painted face. A company of
smart red-and-blue tin soldiers lay in an untidy heap, face down, their
Captain buried underneath them all. You wouldn’t dream that they were
soldiers if you didn’t see their uniforms and swords and guns. There
was a gray horse and a scarlet wagon, both standing on their heads.
There were fire-engines, topsy-turvy, scattered here and there. A
Mother Goose picture-book lay under a chair, and if you had been close
by you would have seen that Mother Goose on the cover did not seem at
all pleased at finding herself in such a place.

What was the matter with this play-room, that the toys lay scattered
about on the floor? Why were they not put neatly away in closet and
cupboard and drawer?

I will tell you.

_The Little Brown Boy never, never put away his toys!_

His mother talked and scolded and even shut him in the closet now and
then. His father shook his head and said to his mother, ‘Well, I shall
have to leave this to you.’ His pretty Aunt Jeannie said she would give
him a present if only he would put away his toys every night. His tall
Uncle Joe promised to take him to the circus if he would pick up his
playthings for a week.

But nothing did any good. Not talking nor scolding, for the Little
Brown Boy didn’t listen. Not shutting in the closet nor even going to
bed in the middle of the day, for no sooner was he out at play again
than the Little Brown Boy had forgotten all about it. Nothing was of
any use. He simply would not put away his toys!

[Illustration]

Now, as the Little Brown Boy lay snug in his bed, something very
strange indeed happened to him. In at the open window came the gay West
Wind with a laugh and a loud, loud puff!!! In a twinkling he whirled
the Little Brown Boy out of bed, twirled him out of the window, and
then blew him along through the air at such a pace that for a moment
the Little Brown Boy scarcely knew just who or where he was.

When at last he could look about him he found he was sitting on an
Autumn leaf, holding tight with both hands, and riding along through
the air so fast that the Wind whistled past his ears.

‘Where am I going?’ called the Little Brown Boy to the Wind. ‘Where am
I going? Tell me, do!’

[Illustration]

But the Wind only shouted ‘Whoo-oo-oo!’ and blew the little boy along
faster than ever before.

The big round Moon laughed down at the Little Brown Boy. The Stars
twinkled and gleamed as if they were laughing too.

On and on went the Autumn leaf, whirling and twirling and dancing along
until the Little Brown Boy spied a great snow-white Palace just ahead.
Straight to this Palace the Wind blew the Autumn leaf. Down, down, down
whirled the leaf until it rested on the Palace front steps. And then,
of course, there was nothing for the Little Brown Boy to do but to jump
off the leaf and look about him.

The ground was covered all roundabout with snow, smooth, hard, shining
snow, but, strangely enough, in spite of his bare toes, the Little
Brown Boy didn’t feel cold at all. Perhaps he was too excited. I don’t
know. He stared with wide-open eyes at the great snow-white Palace,
glittering in the moonlight. Then over to a half-open window, from
which streamed a rosy light, crept the Little Brown Boy, and, clinging
to the window-sill, he peeped into the room.

What the Little Brown Boy saw inside the room almost made him tumble
backward into the snow.

For, before his very eyes sat Santa Claus, the Santa Claus whose
picture the Little Brown Boy had seen many, many times, and who, for
as many years as the Little Brown Boy could remember, had crept down
his chimney on Christmas Eve and left him toys of all sorts and kinds.
Roundabout Santa Claus sat his Brownies, his gay little helpers and
toy-makers, and they were listening carefully to every word that Santa
Claus had to say. On a table, in front of the fire, there lay a great
open Book, and from that Book, so it seemed to the Little Brown Boy,
Santa Claus was reading children’s names.

‘Caroline Jones,’ read Santa Claus aloud.

‘A very good girl,’ he added. ‘She minds her mother and goes to bed
every night without crying.’

When they heard this the Brownies shouted, ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ and
clapped their hands. They seemed as pleased as pleased could be to hear
this news of Caroline Jones.

Santa Claus bent over the Book again.

‘Tom Robinson,’ read Santa Claus aloud.

‘A better boy than he was a month ago,’ said he, looking round with
a smile. ‘He is polite to his grandmother, and runs errands without
grumbling, and cleans his finger nails, sometimes, without being told.’

‘Good! Good!’ shouted the Brownies. And again they clapped their tiny
hands.

At the next name Santa Claus looked sober and not a single Brownie
smiled.

‘Johnny Smith,’ read Santa Claus, and, with a shake of the head, he
dipped his pen into a bottle of black, black ink.

[Illustration]

‘He still worries the cat in spite of all that has been said to him,
and I hear he has been poking his mother’s canary bird with a stick.’
Santa Claus’s merry face was now very sober indeed. ‘His name must be
crossed out, though I don’t like to do it.’

And with his long pen Santa Claus slowly drew a heavy black line
through the name ‘Johnny Smith.’

‘Oh! Oh!’ sighed the Brownies, shaking their heads. ‘Too bad! Too bad!’

‘He will have nothing in his stocking next Christmas but a lump of
coal,’ said one Brownie in a low voice to his neighbor.

‘And an apple with a bite in it,’ added another Brownie, looking sad.

‘But if he is a good boy between now and Christmas, you will put his
name back in the Book of Good Children, won’t you, Santa Claus?’ asked
several Brownies, eager to be as hopeful as they could.

The Little Brown Boy did not hear Santa Claus’s answer. The Book of
Good Children! So that is what it was all about! The Little Brown Boy
held tightly to the window-sill and almost put his head into the room.

Of course he knew what the Book of Good Children was. We all do. The
Book in which Santa Claus keeps the names of all the Children whom he
is to visit on Christmas Eve. What surprised the Little Brown Boy was
that Santa Claus had actually crossed out a little boy’s name from his
Book. Though his mother had often warned him just before Christmas that
this might happen to him, he had never believed that Santa Claus would
do such a thing.

But now Santa Claus was reading again from his great thick Book. And at
what he heard the Little Brown Boy could scarcely believe his ears.

‘Dear! Dear!’ Santa Claus was saying. ‘Here is another name that must
be crossed out.’

And slowly and sadly Santa Claus read the name aloud.

‘The Little Brown Boy!’ read he.

‘Oh, no, Santa Claus!’ called out all the Brownies, their kind little
faces quite wrinkled with distress. ‘Don’t cross out his name to-night.
Give him another chance. Perhaps he will learn to pick up his toys.
Don’t cross off his name to-night.’

Before Santa Claus could answer or even lay down his pen, there was
a noise from the window that made Santa Claus and the Brownies jump
to their feet. Over the window-sill rose the head of a little boy.
His eyes were round as buttons with fright, his mouth was open to
call, ‘No! No! No!’ and every single hair stood straight on end with
excitement, which, as you may imagine, gave him a very strange look
indeed.

The next moment the little boy, who was dressed in his night-clothes,
came scrambling through the half-open window into the room. Straight to
Santa Claus he ran and clasped him round his great high boots.

‘No! No! No!’ called out the little boy again, squeezing Santa Claus’s
boots close in his arms. ‘Don’t cross out my name! I will be good! I
will put away my toys every night! Don’t leave a coal in my stocking at
Christmas! Don’t give me an apple with a bite! Oh! Oh! Oh!’

Here the little boy could say no more, for he hadn’t a speck of breath
left.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Santa Claus, sitting down and lifting the
little boy to his knee, ‘it is the Little Brown Boy himself, I do
declare.’

‘Yes,’ nodded the Little Brown Boy with a sniff, ‘and I am going to
put away my toys every night after this. I promise you, Santa Claus. I
promise I will.’

‘Good!’ answered Santa Claus heartily. ‘Good! Your name is still in the
Book. It isn’t crossed off yet. See for yourself.’

And there, in Santa Claus’s own Book of Good Children, the Little Brown
Boy, leaning from Santa Claus’s knee, saw his name written as plain as
plain could be.

‘Why don’t you take him up to see the toys?’ suggested Santa Claus
to his Brownies, who were now smiling and nodding at one another and
hopping about.

So upstairs they went to a great room filled to every corner with toys
very much like those the Little Brown Boy had at home.

At their first glimpse of the Little Brown Boy, the toys became
excited, so excited that the Little Brown Boy held fast to the
Brownies’ hands. For the toys began to call out and all talk at once
and tell the Little Brown Boy just how toys felt when they were left
lying on the floor at night.

‘We want to rest in our own stable and not lie out in the cold,’
whinnied the horses, stamping their feet and tossing their heads as
they spoke.

‘We like to be packed neatly in our box,’ said the tin soldiers, giving
the Little Brown Boy a fine salute. ‘It is so untidy and unlike a
soldier to lie about on the floor.’

‘We can’t drive straight and with speed to a fire,’ spoke out the
firemen, growing red in the face, ‘unless our fire-engines are placed
in a row on the shelf. You must understand how that is yourself.’

The Little Brown Boy nodded. He did begin to understand.

‘My legs grow stiff when I lie on the floor,’ complained the Jumping
Jack, with an injured look. ‘I can’t jump so well. Could you?’

‘No,’ murmured the Little Brown Boy, hanging his head and almost
putting his finger in his mouth, but not quite.

‘Oh, what a crick I have in my neck!’ said the Jack-in-the-Box, making
a comical face, ‘unless I am put in my box with the cover fastened down
tight.’

And the Jack-in-the-Box crouched down and then gave a mighty spring
into the air as if to show that he had no crick in his neck at the
present time.

As for Mother Goose on the picture-book, she shook her finger at the
Little Brown Boy, but she forgave him with a smile, as did all the
toys, when he promised them solemnly, just as he had promised Santa
Claus, that he would put his toys neatly away every night.

‘I won’t forget,’ said the Little Brown Boy. ‘I promise.’

The Brownies were so happy when they heard this that they said, ‘Let’s
have a feast.’

So sitting round the fire, with Santa Claus looking on, they all
roasted chestnuts and popped corn, the Little Brown Boy too. And they
ate and they ate and they ate until they couldn’t eat any more.

Never before, so he thought, had the Little Brown Boy had such a good
time. But at last it was the Brownies’ bed-time, and the Little Brown
Boy on his leaf was whirled swiftly and safely home.

When he woke in the morning the first thing he did was to pick up all
his toys and put them neatly away. And once in their proper places, the
toys all gave a sigh of relief and fell fast asleep, they were so worn
out from lying on the floor.

Then the Little Brown Boy crept into his mother’s bed and told her all
that had happened to him the night before.

‘What do you think of that?’ asked the Little Brown Boy when he had
finished.

[Illustration]

He was much surprised to have his mother answer, ‘I think it was all a
dream.’

‘A dream?’ exclaimed the Little Brown Boy. ‘How can it be a dream? Look
here!’

From the pocket in his night-clothes he pulled a chestnut, a roasted
chestnut that the Brownies had given to him last night.

‘How can it be a dream?’ asked the Little Brown Boy again.

‘I don’t know,’ answered his mother. ‘Perhaps it did happen. At any
rate, I am glad that, after this, you are going to pick up your toys
every night.’

‘I am,’ said the Little Brown Boy with a nod. ‘I promised Santa Claus.’

And I don’t have to tell you that the Little Brown Boy kept his word.




THE BROWNIE WHO FOUND CHRISTMAS




THE BROWNIE WHO FOUND CHRISTMAS


Merrythought was tired of Christmas.

‘I can scarcely believe it,’ said Santa Claus. ‘I never heard of such a
thing before.’

‘Neither did I,’ answered Merrythought, shaking his head until the tip
of his scarlet cap wagged to and fro. ‘But it is true, Santa Claus. I
am tired of Christmas.’

Merrythought was a Brownie. He was not only a Brownie, he was Santa
Claus’s very best workman as well. It was Santa Claus himself who said
so, and surely he ought to know.

All the year round Merrythought sat in the Snow Palace, at the very
tip-top of the North Pole, making toys for Christmas--toys for boys,
toys for girls, toys for babies too, and no one but the most skillful
Brownie could have made such beautiful, shining Christmas toys. There
is not the slightest doubt in the world about that.

It was the week before Christmas and all the other Brownies who help
Santa Claus stood together in a corner of the work-room whispering
about Merrythought behind their hands.

‘To think that Merrythought is tired of Christmas!’ said Brownie
Kindheart, who was in charge of the smallest baby dolls because of
his gentle, friendly way. ‘Why, I think Merrythought’s dolls are the
most beautiful of all. Their eyes are the bluest, and their cheeks are
the rosiest, and their lips have the sweetest smiles. I don’t see how
Merrythought can be tired of Christmas.’

‘He says he doesn’t like toys any more,’ spoke up Nimbletoes, ‘but I
never saw such fine Jumping Jacks as he has made this year. They leap
and dance and fling their arms and legs about until I can scarcely
stand still.’

And Nimbletoes jumped up and down like a Jumping Jack till he lost his
breath and had to sit down in the corner to find it again.

‘I like his Jack-in-the-Boxes immensely,’ said Brownie Mischief,
smiling at the very thought. ‘They shoot up in the air with so much
spirit and dash and they all wear such cheerful grins. Each one seems
to say, “Don’t you wish you were a Jack-in-the-Box?” And, I declare,
sometimes I almost do.’

‘Give me his rocking-horses,’ said Fleetfoot, whose specialty was
making roller skates and snow coasters and kites. ‘They prance and
gallop and champ at their bits as if they would like nothing better
than to take you for a ride to Banbury Cross and back again. I think
he is the best toy-maker of us all.’

‘Poor Merrythought!’ whispered gentle Silvertongue, pointing to the
corner where Merrythought sat alone. ‘How sober he looks! He used to
grow happier and happier as Christmas drew near. He would sing at his
work and smile to himself until the whole Snow Palace was in a good
humor no matter how busy we might be.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Kindheart. ‘He was as merry as his name. But he
says this year he has lost his feeling for Christmas. He used to love
it, the toys and the candy and the surprises. But he doesn’t feel so
now. He thinks children want too many toys. He has lost Christmas, he
says.’

‘Lost Christmas?’ exclaimed little Sharpeyes, the errand boy. He
was the Brownie who picked up pins and threaded needles and found
the scissors for every one else. ‘Perhaps I can find it for him. I
will begin to look this very minute. I would look for a week without
stopping rather than have Merrythought feel so sad.’

‘Ho! I know what to do!’ cried Sweet-Tooth, chief of the candy cooks.
‘I will make a new candy for Merrythought, a new chewy kind, that will
keep him so busy he will forget that he has lost Christmas. Now let me
tell you Brownies what I mean to put in it.’

Sweet-Tooth checked off the items on his fingers while the Brownies
crowded round to hear.

‘Molasses--and sugar--and hickory nuts--and cream----’

       *       *       *       *       *

But Mischief slipped away and strolled over to the work-bench where
Merrythought sat, his head on his hand.

‘What is the matter, Merrythought?’ asked Mischief kindly. ‘You look as
if you had lost your best friend.’

‘I have,’ answered Merrythought, without raising his head, ‘or worse. I
have lost Christmas. I don’t like Christmas any more.’

‘What is the matter with Christmas?’ asked Mischief again. ‘You used to
like Christmas the best of us all.’

‘I know I did,’ answered Merrythought, ‘but I have had too much of
it. I am tired of toys and presents and Christmas Trees, and the very
thought of tinsel and silver and gold Tree ornaments makes me shudder
from head to foot.’

‘Dear me,’ said Mischief with a little frown, ‘that is too bad. What
you need is a change, Merrythought. I am sure you need a change. Why
don’t you ask Santa Claus to let you ride with him around the world on
Christmas Eve?’

‘He wouldn’t take me,’ answered Merrythought, slowly shaking his head.
‘You know he always says that if he took one Brownie he would have to
take all, and that if he took us all we would make so much noise that
we would wake the children in their beds. I don’t want to go, anyway.
It would be nothing but toys, toys, toys. That is all children think of
nowadays, at Christmas, how many toys they are going to get.’

‘I don’t believe all children have so many toys,’ said Mischief. ‘I
think if you went with Santa Claus you would see some children who had
very little Christmas indeed.’

‘Humph, I don’t,’ answered Merrythought. ‘Think of that sleigh full of
toys, enough for the whole world. And I am tired of toys, I tell you. I
have made only one toy this year that I really like, and that is Lady
Arabella.’

‘Oh, yes, Lady Arabella,’ said Mischief, and walked off without another
word.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lady Arabella was a big little-girl doll, and Merrythought had made her
for little Princess Maud.

It happened this way. Early in December, Santa Claus had a letter from
Princess Maud’s grandmother in which she said that she would like
Princess Maud to have a big little-girl doll for Christmas this year.
Santa Claus took the letter to Merrythought, his best workman, and
Merrythought sat himself down and made Lady Arabella.

Now Merrythought was so tired of curly hair and lace dresses with satin
bows and pale blue kid shoes to match that he didn’t give Lady Arabella
any of these. He thought to himself, ‘Perhaps Princess Maud is tired
of fancy dresses, too; perhaps she would like a plain comfortable
doll whose clothes she could not spoil no matter how hard she played
with her.’ So he gave Lady Arabella pretty blue eyes and pink cheeks,
to be sure, and two long yellow braids tied with flyaway pink bows.
But he dressed her in neat brown shoes and stockings and in a plain,
though fine, white frock. And over the frock he put a pink-and-white
pinafore that covered her from top to toe, a good, sensible pinafore
that was not in the least like a lace dress with satin bows and pale
blue kid shoes to match. The pinafore had pockets and in one pocket was
a tiny handkerchief and in the other a purse just large enough to hold
a penny. Oh! Merrythought knew how to do things When it came to making
dolls.

Now you might think that Lady Arabella was too plain and sensible for
a Christmas doll. But there was something about her that every one
liked. The toys liked her, the Brownies liked her--you remember that
Merrythought liked her best of all the toys he had made that year--and
Santa Claus felt sure that Princess Maud and her grandmother would be
delighted with her, too.

Now when Mischief left Merrythought he went looking for Lady Arabella,
and he found her seated on the window-sill behind the curtain watching
the reindeer romping in the snow.

Mischief slipped behind the curtain too, and first of all he asked Lady
Arabella if she had heard him talking to Merrythought just now.

Yes, Lady Arabella had heard every single word.

Then Mischief asked a very strange question, indeed.

‘Do you know what a tantrum is, Lady Arabella?’ asked he.

‘No, I never heard of a tantrum,’ said Lady Arabella.

‘Well, a tantrum is this,’ explained Mischief, his face very sober but
his eyes twinkling with fun. ‘You want your own way, and you dance up
and down and scream and cry and sometimes you lie on the floor and
kick. Now, Lady Arabella, do you think you could have a tantrum?’ asked
he.

‘Yes,’ answered Lady Arabella promptly, ‘I am sure that I could.’

‘Then let me whisper in your ear,’ said Mischief.

And when he had finished whispering, he and Lady Arabella laughed and
nodded at one another and laughed again.

They had a secret, and presently you shall know what it was.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve--the busiest moment in the
whole year at Santa Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of the
North Pole.

[Illustration]

The great sleigh stood in front of the door, the eight tiny reindeer
harnessed and in place before it. In and out of the Palace scurried the
Brownies, packing the sleigh with the toys they had been at work upon
for a long, long year.

Out came the trains, the wagons, the sleds. Nimbletoes sped by with
his arms full of Teddy bears and Jumping Jacks. Sweet-Tooth staggered
along under his load of candy, fifty different kinds. Silvertongue
carried toy cats and dogs, elephants, sheep, and camels, too. Very
gently Kindheart brought out the dolls, tucking them carefully into
warm and comfortable nooks. Mischief dragged down the steps two
rocking-horses at a time, their manes and tails blowing in the frosty
air. Fleetfoot and Merrythought were everywhere at once, tying a
bicycle on the back of the sleigh, pushing in a stray Noah’s Ark,
squeezing a Jack-in-the-Box into place. Little by little the sleigh was
filled. Higher and higher grew the pile of toys. It was more and more
difficult to find a place for each toy now.

Sharpeyes ran about, picking up the last few toys that had been dropped
here and there.

Merrythought stood by the reindeer, rubbing Dasher’s head, patting
Dancer upon his furry nose.

Santa Claus drew on his gloves. It was almost time to start.

Suddenly Mischief, whose face had grown very red, called out, ‘Where is
Lady Arabella? We have forgotten Lady Arabella.’

Every one looked at every one else. It was true, quite true, they had
forgotten Lady Arabella.

Mischief, always as quick as a flash, darted into the Palace, to come
running out again, holding Lady Arabella by the hand.

‘I found her!’ called Mischief. ‘I found her! She was hiding behind the
curtain, on the window-sill. But, look, Santa Claus, she is crying!
Lady Arabella is crying!’

And so it was. Lady Arabella was crying. In spite of her tiny
handkerchief which she pulled from her pinafore pocket, the tears ran
down her pretty pink cheeks and the end of her little tip-tilted nose
was red.

The Brownies stared at Lady Arabella, and Santa Claus stared too. Such
a thing as a crying doll had never happened before. The toys were
always happy and excited on Christmas Eve, looking forward to their new
homes, wherever Santa Claus might leave them.

‘What is the matter, Lady Arabella?’ asked Santa Claus in his kindest
voice. ‘Have you a pain? Are you hungry? What is the matter with you?’

‘I am homesick,’ sobbed Lady Arabella. ‘I am homesick and lonely too. I
don’t want to go riding all aloney-loney-loney. I want Merrythought to
go with me. I do, I do, I do!’

‘But you will not be alone,’ said Santa Claus in surprise. ‘There is a
nice place for you beside Red Jumping Jack. Look and see! He will hold
one hand and the White Polar Bear will hold the other. I am sure you
will not be lonely if only you make up your mind not to cry.’

But Lady Arabella shook her head and danced up and down and cried
louder than before.

‘No, no!’ cried Lady Arabella, shaking her elbows as if she would
like to poke the Red Jumping Jack and the White Polar Bear. ‘I want
Merrythought! I want Merrythought to go with me or else I won’t go at
all.’

Here Lady Arabella threw herself on the ground and kicked with all her
might and main. You could scarcely see her brown shoes and stockings,
Lady Arabella kicked them to and fro so very fast.

A strange way, indeed, for Lady Arabella to act! It didn’t seem at all
like a doll who had been made to live with a little Princess. Surely
such a doll would be on her best behavior every moment of the time.

[Illustration]

But you would have thought it still more strange if you could have seen
Mischief hiding down behind the sleigh. All of the other Brownies were
so sorry for Lady Arabella that they looked quite troubled; one or two
of them looked quite shocked. But Mischief was not troubled at all.
He almost seemed trying not to laugh. He was muttering to himself as
well, and Silvertongue said afterward that he thought he heard him say,
‘Hurrah for you, Lady Arabella! That is a good tantrum. That is one of
the best tantrums I have ever seen.’

Now Santa Claus was like the Brownies. He was troubled to see Lady
Arabella so unhappy. It was growing late, too.

‘Dear me!’ said Santa Claus, rubbing his nose with his great fur glove.
‘Dear me! Little Princess Maud won’t want a doll who has been crying.
Perhaps you had better jump in, Merrythought, and go with us, after
all.’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Merrythought.

His breath was quite taken away at the idea of going round the world
with Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. But he managed to raise Lady
Arabella to her feet and together they quickly climbed into place in
the sleigh.

Mischief tucked the robe round Lady Arabella and patted her hand. Santa
Claus gathered up the reins, he cracked his whip, the Brownies gave
three loud cheers, and the sleigh was off.

Lady Arabella still behaved strangely. She wiped her eyes and smiled
round at Merrythought. She was not at all ashamed of having had a
tantrum, though the Red Jumping Jack and the White Polar Bear gave her
a scornful look. Then she hid her face on Merrythought’s shoulder and
laughed and laughed and laughed. And not until they were well out of
sight of the palace was she able to sit around straight and look about
her as she rode.

Now have you guessed the secret that Lady Arabella and Mischief had
between them? Just think a moment and I am sure you will.

       *       *       *       *       *

On sped the sleigh over the snow, the moon and the stars glittering
cold and bright in the frosty sky. Snow, snow, still more snow. Then
the forests, dark and piney and sweet-smelling. Now and then a house.
Up, up, up to the roof would go the sleigh, down the chimney Santa
Claus would creep, then back again to his place and off, the reindeer
seeming fairly to fly over the snow. Now a village, now a town.

And everywhere children in bed and asleep, their bedrooms dark or dimly
lighted by a low night-lamp. And everywhere ready and waiting for Santa
Claus, though not always ready in just the same way. Sometimes there
would be stockings hung by the chimney place, sometimes a little wooden
shoe placed outside the door, sometimes a candle burning in the window
to light Noel upon his way. But always Santa Claus knew what to do and
just what presents to leave in every house.

Into a big city dashed the sleigh, straight toward a great castle with
turrets and towers and many windows sparkling in the frosty starlight.
It was the castle where Princess Maud lived, and now Merrythought and
Lady Arabella were forced to say good-bye.

‘I know you will make Princess Maud happy,’ said Merrythought, kissing
Lady Arabella’s pretty pink cheek.

In return Lady Arabella threw both arms about Merrythought’s neck.

‘I’m so glad that you could come with us,’ whispered she, hugging him
close, ‘and do try to find Christmas again to-night if you can.’

Then down the chimney went Lady Arabella and Santa Claus and the great
pack of toys into the peaceful night nursery where slept the little
Princess Maud, dreaming of the big little-girl doll she hoped Santa
Claus would bring her that night.

On went the sleigh. Merrythought crept next to Santa Claus and cuddled
down close as the sleigh swept across the ocean with its dashing waves
and snow squalls and great ships ploughing silently along through the
black and icy water.

There were children on those ships. Do you think Santa Claus passed
them by? Not he! By special arrangement down on the decks he flung
great sacks of toys so that no child should wake on Christmas Morning
and find his stocking unfilled.

Over the land again, Santa Claus stopping so often now that
Merrythought grew quite used to holding the reins. Here were more
children fast asleep, here were mothers and fathers trimming Christmas
Trees, and people trudging through the snow carrying presents and
wreaths of holly and bunches of mistletoe.

‘Gay, isn’t it?’ asked Santa Claus, smiling with all his might. ‘There
is nothing in the world quite like Christmas and plenty of toys for
every one. Eh, Merrythought?’

And his face was so happy as he looked down at Merrythought that the
little Brownie was ashamed to tell him how he really felt.

So he buried his nose in the warm fur robe and only mumbled something
about ‘too many toys.’

But Santa Claus heard him and understood. He didn’t speak again to
Merrythought. He only looked at him when they reached a poor house
where all Santa Claus left for the little boy was a fire-engine, and
next door where the baby had only a monkey-on-a-stick.

‘Perhaps all children don’t have too many toys,’ thought Merrythought.
‘But they all have something. And I am tired to death of toys, just
tired to death of them.’

Now Santa Claus drove through the white countryside, on and on and on,
until there was not a house to be seen.

‘Where can we be going?’ Merrythought asked himself. ‘This looks like
the end of the world.’

On and on and on, until, half buried in the snow, Merrythought spied a
little brown house. There was a light in the window, though it was the
middle of the night.

‘Somebody trimming a Christmas Tree, I suppose,’ thought Merrythought.
‘More toys and tinsel and gold, no doubt.’

To his surprise Santa Claus did not stop. He slowed up a little and
gently, very gently, he lifted Merrythought out and dropped him in the
snow.

‘Go look in the window,’ said Santa Claus, ‘and if I am not mistaken
there will be something for you to see. I will be back for you by and
by.’

And off sped the sleigh and out of sight among the white drifts of snow.

       *       *       *       *       *

Merrythought struggled up the path through the deep snow and peeped in
the window.

As we know, he had expected to see a Christmas Tree laden with gay
balls and chains and ornaments of every kind and hue. He thought he
might see stockings in a row. He was sure he would see bunches of
holly and sprays of mistletoe.

But the room into which he looked had not a sign of Christmas anywhere.

[Illustration]

It was a bare little room with a bed in one corner and an old
cook-stove that quite filled one side of the wall.

And in the room were seven children, all wide awake as could be, just
as if it were not Christmas Eve, when every wise little boy or girl
goes to sleep the moment his bed-time comes. The seven children were
in their night-gowns, all but one, the oldest, a girl, and they had
huddled round their shoulders bits of shawls and blankets to keep them
warm. But in spite of this and the fire in the stove their noses were
red with cold and they blew upon their fingers every now and then.

They were watching the stove, the oven of the stove, and all seven were
sniffing, sniffing the air. And first one and then the other would call
out, ‘I smell them! I smell them! I know I do!’

At this they would become so excited that they would jump up and down
and lose off their blankets and bits of shawls. Then the biggest girl
would have to go round among them and wrap them up again.

All this Merrythought could hear and see quite plainly, for his nose
was pressed flat against the window-pane.

‘They must have a Christmas Turkey in the oven,’ thought he. ‘But what
a strange time to cook it. And where are their toys and their Tree and
their father and mother, too?’

Merrythought looked and listened with all his might.

‘I must know what is in that oven,’ thought he again. ‘It doesn’t smell
like turkey to me.’

Here Merrythought sniffed vigorously all along the window-sill. He was
becoming almost as excited as the children themselves.

‘I will know their names soon,’ said he, smiling to see the seven
children sniff and clap their hands and jump about. ‘That oldest girl
is named Belinda, for the other children are always calling out, “Oh,
Belinda, wrap me up! Oh, Belinda, do sniff over here!” She seems to
take care of them. I wonder where their own mother is.’

Merrythought rubbed the steam of his breath off the window and peered
in again.

‘The littlest boy with freckles is called Tom, and the one with curls
and her thumb in her mouth is Matilda, and the baby is Polly, I know.
I think those two boys holding hands and giggling are called Danny and
Bill. And the one with the pigtails is named Ann Mary, for her two
grandmothers, I suppose. I wonder when they will open that oven door
and take out whatever is inside.’

The children were wondering this, too.

‘Oh, Belinda, do look in the oven! Oh, Belinda, do see if they are not
done! Oh, Belinda, we can’t wait a minute longer!’

[Illustration]

Belinda laughed at them and shook her head.

Stand back,’ said she, ‘and I will look in the oven.’

But they didn’t stand back, not they. They crowded round and peeked
and sniffed as Belinda gently opened the oven door. And when she said,
‘They are done!’ they clapped their hands and shouted and pranced about
the room.

‘What can it be?’ asked Merrythought, clinging to the window-sill, his
eyes as round as plates. ‘It must be something very rich and fine.’

But what do you think Belinda took from the oven and carefully set upon
the table in a row?

Seven little pies! Seven little saucer pies, in very small saucers, too!

Merrythought almost fell off the window-sill, he was so surprised. And
the very next moment he did something much worse. He sneezed! A loud
crashing sneeze that jerked his head forward and struck it against the
window-pane with a thump!

Well, of course the children rushed over to the window to see what
was there. And when they saw a little fellow, only Brownie size, they
opened the door, and Belinda called him to come in.

So in Merrythought went, and the room was so sweet with the odor of the
seven little pies that Merrythought couldn’t help sniffing and staring
at them, too.

‘They are our pies,’ spoke up little Tom proudly.

‘One apiece,’ announced Danny and Bill in a breath.

‘Belinda made them,’ said Ann Mary, twitching her pigtails into place.

‘For our Christmas,’ added Matilda, taking her thumb out of her mouth
to say so.

Baby Polly didn’t speak a word. Perhaps she couldn’t. I am not sure
about that. But she toddled straight over to Merrythought and slipped
her hand in his. She knew at a glance that here was a friend. And
she was right. For unless he were a good friend to little children
Merrythought could never have made such beautiful playthings for them,
in spite of the fact that this Christmas he had grown so tired of toys.

But, somehow, as he looked about the little room, bare of Christmas
on Christmas Eve, Merrythought didn’t so dislike the idea of toys.
Indeed, it seemed all wrong and strange not to see a shining Tree and
stockings, filled to overflowing, in a row, and little heads, brown and
black and yellow, snuggled down into a pillow and happy with Christmas
dreams.

This was a strange Christmas Eve, and perhaps Merrythought’s face
showed what he felt, for Belinda began at once to tell him how it had
come about.

‘You see, Father and Mother went to town almost a week ago. Father went
to help build a house. He is a carpenter, you know. And Mother went to
do sewing for the minister’s wife,’ said Belinda, standing straight and
tall. ‘And they left me to take care of the children. They meant to be
home for Christmas. They were coming to-night. Mother said she would
bring each of the children an orange, if she could. But the snow is
very deep, and they didn’t come. So I made the pies for the children.
They have apples and molasses and sugar in them. And the children will
like them just as well as toys.’

The children did like them. They were hopping round the table and
calling out, ‘Smell mine! Smell mine!’

But Merrythought did not like it at all. He thought of the many toys he
had made that year in Santa Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of
the North Pole, he thought of Santa Claus’s sleigh still well filled,
he thought of the stockings and Christmas Trees that other children
would enjoy on Christmas Day. And Merrythought wished with all his
generous little Brownie heart that he could give a beautiful toy to
each of these seven children who were made so happy on Christmas by a
little saucer pie.

‘Oh!’ groaned Merrythought to himself. ‘And I said there were too many
toys. I said children thought of nothing but toys and how many they
would get. I said I was tired of toys. And these children haven’t a
single one, not a single little toy. How could I have said such a
thing! Oh! Oh! Oh!’

But here Merrythought felt some one pulling at his hand.

It was Ann Mary, holding out her pie to Merrythought.

‘Here!’ said Ann Mary, her pigtails standing straight out with
excitement. ‘Take it. It’s yours. I want to give it to you for
Christmas because you haven’t any pie or anything. The other children
will give me bites of theirs. They said they would. Take it. It’s for
you.’

Merrythought took the pie. He almost wanted to cry, but he took a bite
of crust instead.

‘Delicious!’ said Merrythought. ‘It is the best pie I ever ate.’

But at that moment Merrythought’s face grew very bright.

‘Just a minute,’ said he. ‘Don’t stir.’

He opened the door and looked out. He listened and listened again.

Just as he thought. He did hear Santa Claus’s sleigh-bells, faint and
clear.

‘Wait! Wait for me!’ he shouted out into the snow. And there came an
answering tinkle that told him Santa Claus had heard.

Then he turned back into the room.

‘Think just as fast as you can,’ said Merrythought to the seven
astonished children standing before him in a row. ‘Think just as fast
as you can, and then tell me what toy you would like most of all for
Christmas.’

Why, it didn’t take them two minutes to think. They began to answer
before Merrythought had finished speaking to them.

‘A sled! A pair of skates!’ said Danny and Bill, holding tight to one
another and giggling as they spoke.

‘A Jack-in-the-Box,’ said Tom, all freckles and smiles.

‘A doll, a sleepy doll,’ said Ann Mary, twitching her pigtails into
place.

‘A Jumping Jack,’ said Matilda, taking her thumb out of her mouth and
putting it back again.

Polly hid her face in Belinda’s skirt, so Belinda answered for her.

‘She wants a woolly lamb on wheels,’ said Belinda. ‘I know that is
what she wants most of all.’

‘And what do you want?’ asked Merrythought. ‘Every one has told but
you.’

Belinda’s eyes grew bright.

‘I want a sewing-box,’ said Belinda--‘a sewing-box with a lock and key
so that the children can never touch what is inside.’

Merrythought nodded. He could go straight to work at once. He started
toward the door. Then suddenly he turned back again.

‘But you mustn’t look!’ exclaimed Merrythought. He had remembered how
dreadful it would be if any one peeped out of the window and caught
even a glimpse of Santa Claus and his sleigh. ‘You mustn’t look, you
know. Promise me that not one of you will look.’

‘We will hide our eyes,’ said Belinda. ‘Come, children. Let’s hide our
eyes on the side of the bed.’

So down by the side of the bed went the seven children, all in a row,
their blankets and bits of shawls huddled round their shoulders and
their pink toes and heels showing in the most comical way. They didn’t
know what it was all about, to be sure, but it was Christmasy and fun
and exciting, and they liked it, every one.

Then Merrythought, his pie in his hand, rushed out of the house to be
met by Santa Claus, with both arms full, down at the gate.

‘Yes, yes, I know all about it,’ said Santa Claus, ruddy and smiling,
with little icicles hanging from his beard. ‘Here, help me with these
toys. This is Danny’s sled, a red one. Put it on the doorstep and pile
these blankets on top. Don’t let them fall in the snow.’

‘Blankets?’ said Merrythought in surprise. ‘Nobody wants blankets here.’

‘Oh, yes, they do,’ answered Santa Claus firmly. ‘Their mother does.
Didn’t you see how thin their blankets were?’

Merrythought stared at Santa Claus. There was no one in the world quite
like him, after all.

‘Here are Bill’s skates and Belinda’s sewing-box with a lock and key,’
went on Santa Claus, reaching down first into one deep pocket and then
into the other. ‘Put them on top of the blankets. And here is Ann
Mary’s sleepy doll. You made her, Merrythought. She is one of your
prettiest. This is Tom’s Jack-in-the-Box. What’s this? Oh, Matilda’s
Jumping Jack. How he can jump! And here is Polly’s woolly lamb on green
wheels with a bell round his neck. Now, just a little candy,’ finished
Santa Claus, packing seven boxes neatly on the edge of the sled, ‘and
we are off.’

Into the sleigh, fairly empty now, climbed Merrythought and Santa Claus.

‘Wait! My pie!’ exclaimed Merrythought, pulling it from his pocket. ‘I
will break it in two and share with you.’

The pie was so small it could be eaten in two bites, but Santa Claus
and Merrythought did not speak of that. They only said how good it was
and how well Belinda baked for a girl of her years.

The little pie plate was made of tin, and as the sleigh moved off
Merrythought took aim and sent it flying straight at the little front
door.

Clatter! Clatter! Rush!

Out on the doorstep tumbled the seven children, head-first, pell-mell.
They spied the toys, they seized them, they screamed for joy.

Santa Claus and Merrythought laughed aloud, they were so happy too.

‘My sled! My skates!’

‘A sleepy doll! She really sleeps!’

‘See my Jumping Jack! He jumps so high!’

‘Look! Look! My Jack-in-the-Box!’

‘A real little key and it locks as tight as tight can be!’

‘Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!’ from the woolly lamb.

Merrythought leaned from the sleigh and waved his hand, though of
course the children could not see him at all.

‘Too many toys, Merrythought?’ asked Santa Claus, looking down at the
Brownie at his side.

Merrythought laughed and shook his head.

‘No, not enough toys,’ answered he. ‘The moment I reach home I am going
to begin to make toys for those seven children for next year. But best
of all, Santa Claus, I have found Christmas,’ said Merrythought. ‘I
have found Christmas again.’


THE END




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.





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