One Christmas eve Joel Baker was in
a most unhappy mood. He was lonesome and miserable;
the chimes making merry Christmas music outside disturbed
rather than soothed him, the jingle of the sleigh-bells
fretted him, and the shrill whistling of the wind around
the corners of the house and up and down the chimney
seemed to grate harshly on his ears.
“Humph,” said Joel, wearily,
“Christmas is nothin’ to me; there was
a time when it meant a great deal, but that was long
ago-fifty years is a long stretch to look
back over. There is nothin’ in Christmas
now, nothin’ for me at least; it is so
long since Santa Claus remembered me that I venture
to say he has forgotten that there ever was such a
person as Joel Baker in all the world. It used
to be different; Santa Claus used to think
a great deal of me when I was a boy. Ah!
Christmas nowadays ain’t what it was in the good
old time-no, not what it used to be.”
As Joel was absorbed in his distressing
thoughts he became aware very suddenly that somebody
was entering or trying to enter the room. First
came a draft of cold air, then a scraping, grating
sound, then a strange shuffling, and then,-yes,
then, all at once, Joel saw a pair of fat legs and
a still fatter body dangle down the chimney, followed
presently by a long white beard, above which appeared
a jolly red nose and two bright twinkling eyes, while
over the head and forehead was drawn a fur cap, white
with snowflakes.
“Ha, ha,” chuckled the
fat, jolly stranger, emerging from the chimney and
standing well to one side of the hearthstone; “ha,
ha, they don’t have the big, wide chimneys they
used to build, but they can’t keep Santa Claus
out-no, they can’t keep Santa Claus
out! Ha, ha, ha. Though the chimney were
no bigger than a gas pipe, Santa Claus would slide
down it!”
It didn’t require a second glance
to assure Joel that the new-comer was indeed Santa
Claus. Joel knew the good old saint-oh,
yes-and he had seen him once before, and,
although that was when Joel was a little boy, he had
never forgotten how Santa Claus looked.
Nor had Santa Claus forgotten Joel,
although Joel thought he had; for now Santa Claus
looked kindly at Joel and smiled and said: “Merry
Christmas to you, Joel!”
“Thank you, old Santa Claus,”
replied Joel, “but I don’t believe it’s
going to be a very merry Christmas. It’s
been so long since I ’ve had a merry Christmas
that I don’t believe I ’d know how to act
if I had one.”
“Let’s see,” said
Santa Claus, “it must be going on fifty years
since I saw you last-yes, you were eight
years old the last time I slipped down the chimney
of the old homestead and filled your stocking.
Do you remember it?”
“I remember it well,”
answered Joel. “I had made up my mind to
lie awake and see Santa Claus; I had heard tell of
you, but I ’d never seen you, and Brother Otis
and I concluded we ’d lie awake and watch for
you to come.”
Santa Claus shook his head reproachfully.
“That was very wrong,” said he, “for
I ’m so scarey that if I ’d known you boys
were awake I ’d never have come down the chimney
at all, and then you ’d have had no presents.”
“But Otis could n’t keep
awake,” explained Joel. “We talked
about everythin’ we could think of, till father
called out to us that if we did n’t stop talking
he ’d have to send one of us up into the attic
to sleep with the hired man. So in less than
five minutes Otis was sound asleep and no pinching
could wake him up. But I was bound to
see Santa Claus and I don’t believe anything
would ’ve put me to sleep. I heard
the big clock in the sitting-room strike eleven, and
I had begun wonderin’ if you never were going
to come, when all of a sudden I heard the tinkle of
the bells around your reindeers’ necks.
Then I heard the reindeers prancin’ on the
roof and the sound of your sleigh-runners cuttin’
through the crust and slippin’ over the shingles.
I was kind o’ scared and I covered my head
up with the sheet and quilts-only I left
a little hole so I could peek out and see what was
goin’ on. As soon as I saw you I got over
bein’ scared-for you were jolly and
smilin’ like, and you chuckled as you went around
to each stockin’ and filled it up.”
“Yes, I can remember the night,”
said Santa Claus. “I brought you a sled,
did n’t I?”
“Yes, and you brought Otis one,
too,” replied Joel. “Mine was red
and had ‘Yankee Doodle’ painted in black
letters on the side; Otis’ was black and had
‘Snow Queen’ in gilt letters.”
“I remember those sleds distinctly,”
said Santa Claus, “for I made them specially
for you boys.”
“You set the sleds up against
the wall,” continued Joel, “and then you
filled the stockin’s.”
“There were six of ’em,
as I recollect?” said Santa Claus.
“Let me see,” queried
Joel. “There was mine, and Otis’,
and Elvira’s, and Thankful’s, and Susan
Prickett’s-Susan was our help, you
know. No, there were only five, and, as I remember,
they were the biggest we could beg or borrer of Aunt
Dorcas, who weighed nigh unto two hundred pounds.
Otis and I did n’t like Susan Prickett, and
we were hopin’ you ’d put a cold potato
in her stockin’.”
“But Susan was a good girl,”
remonstrated Santa Claus. “You know I put
cold potatoes only in the stockin’s of boys and
girls who are bad and don’t believe in Santa
Claus.”
“At any rate,” said Joel,
“you filled all the stockin’s with candy
and pop-corn and nuts and raisins, and I can remember
you said you were afraid you ’d run out of pop-corn
balls before you got around. Then you left each
of us a book. Elvira got the best one, which
was ’The Garland of Frien’ship,’
and had poems in it about the bleeding of hearts,
and so forth. Father was n’t expectin’
anything, but you left him a new pair of mittens,
and mother got a new fur boa to wear to meetin’.”
“Of course,” said Santa
Claus, “I never forgot father and mother.”
“Well, it was as much as I could
do to lay still,” continued Joel, “for
I ‘d been longin’ for a sled, an’
the sight of that red sled with ‘Yankee Doodle’
painted on it jest made me wild. But, somehow
or other, I began to get powerful sleepy all at once,
and I could n’t keep my eyes open. The
next thing I knew Otis was nudgin’ me in the
ribs. ‘Git up, Joel,’ says he; ‘it’s
Chris’mas an’ Santa Claus has been here.’
‘Merry Christ’mas! Merry Chris’mas!’
we cried as we tumbled out o’ bed. Then
Elvira an’ Thankful came in, not more ’n
half dressed, and Susan came in, too, an’ we
just made Rome howl with ’Merry Chris’mas!
Merry Chris’mas!’ to each other.
’Ef you children don’t make less noise
in there,’ cried father, ’I’ll hev
to send you all back to bed.’ The idea
of askin’ boys an’ girls to keep quiet
on Chris’mas mornin’ when they ‘ve
got new sleds an’ ’Garlands of Frien’ship’!”
Santa Claus chuckled; his rosy cheeks fairly beamed
joy.
“Otis an’ I did n’t
want any breakfast,” said Joel. “We
made up our minds that a stockin’ful of candy
and pop-corn and raisins would stay us for a while.
I do believe there was n’t buckwheat cakes enough
in the township to keep us indoors that mornin’;
buckwheat cakes don’t size up much ’longside
of a red sled with ‘Yankee Doodle’ painted
onto it and a black sled named ‘Snow Queen.’
We did n’t care how cold it was-so
much the better for slidin’ down hill!
All the boys had new sleds-Lafe Dawson,
Bill Holbrook, Gum Adams, Rube Playford, Leander Merrick,
Ezra Purple-all on ’em had new sleds
excep’ Martin Peavey, and he said he calculated
Santa Claus had skipped him this year ’cause
his father had broke his leg haulin’ logs from
the Pelham woods and had been kep’ indoors six
weeks. But Martin had his ol’ sled, and
he didn’t hev to ask any odds of any of us,
neither.”
“I brought Martin a sled the
next Christmas,” said Santa Claus.
“Like as not-but
did you ever slide down hill, Santa Claus? I
don’t mean such hills as they hev out here in
this new country, but one of them old-fashioned
New England hills that was made ’specially for
boys to slide down, full of bumpers an’ thank-ye-marms,
and about ten times longer comin’ up than it
is goin’ down! The wind blew in our faces
and almos’ took our breath away. ‘Merry
Chris’mas to ye, little boys!’ it seemed
to say, and it untied our mufflers an’ whirled
the snow in our faces, just as if it was a boy, too,
an’ wanted to play with us. An ol’
crow came flappin’ over us from the corn field
beyond the meadow. He said: ‘Caw,
caw,’ when he saw my new sled-I s’pose
he ’d never seen a red one before. Otis
had a hard time with his sled-the
black one-an’ he wondered why it
would n’t go as fast as mine would. ’Hev
you scraped the paint off’n the runners?’
asked Wralsey Goodnow. ‘Course I hev,’
said Otis; ‘broke my own knife an’ Lute
Ingraham’s a-doin’ it, but it don’t
seem to make no dif’rence-the darned
ol’ thing won’t go!’ Then, what
did Simon Buzzell say but that, like ’s not,
it was because Otis’s sled’s name was ‘Snow
Queen.’ ’Never did see a girl sled
that was worth a cent, anyway,’ sez Simon.
Well, now, that jest about broke Otis up in business.
‘It ain’t a girl sled,’ sez he,
‘and its name ain’t “Snow Queen”!
I’m a-goin’ to call it “Dan’l
Webster,” or “Ol’ver Optic,”
or “Sheriff Robbins,” or after some other
big man!’ An’ the boys plagued him so
much about that pesky girl sled that he scratched
off the name, an’, as I remember, it did
go better after that!
“About the only thing,”
continued Joel, “that marred the harmony of the
occasion, as the editor of the ‘Hampshire County
Phoenix’ used to say, was the ashes that Deacon
Morris Frisbie sprinkled out in front of his house.
He said he was n’t going to have folks breakin’
their necks jest on account of a lot of frivolous
boys that was goin’ to the gallows as fas’
as they could! Oh, how we hated him! and we ’d
have snowballed him, too, if we had n’t been
afraid of the constable that lived next door.
But the ashes did n’t bother us much, and every
time we slid sidesaddle we ’d give the ashes
a kick, and that sort of scattered ’em.”
The bare thought of this made Santa Claus laugh.
“Goin’ on about nine o’clock,”
said Joel, “the girls come along-Sister
Elvira an’ Thankful, Prudence Tucker, Belle Yocum,
Sophrone Holbrook, Sis Hubbard, an’ Marthy Sawyer.
Marthy’s brother Increase wanted her to ride
on his sled, but Marthy allowed that a red sled
was her choice every time. ’I don’t
see how I ‘m goin’ to hold on,’ said
Marthy. ‘Seems as if I would hev my hands
full keepin’ my things from blowin’ away.’
‘Don’t worry about yourself, Marthy,’
sez I, ’for if you’ll look after your
things, I kind o’ calc’late I’ll
manage not to lose you on the way.’
Dear Marthy-seems as if I could see you
now, with your tangled hair a-blowin’ in the
wind, your eyes all bright and sparklin’, an’
your cheeks as red as apples. Seems, too, as
if I could hear you laughin’ an’ callin’,
jist as you did as I toiled up the old New England
hill that Chris’mas mornin’-a
callin’: ’Joel, Joel, Joel-ain’t
ye ever comin’, Joel?’ But the hill is
long and steep, Marthy, an’ Joel ain’t
the boy he used to be; he ‘s old, an’ gray,
an’ feeble, but there ‘s love an’
faith in his heart, an’ they kind o’ keep
him totterin’ tow’rds the voice he hears
a-callin’: ‘Joel, Joel, Joel!’”
“I know-I see it
all,” murmured Santa Claus, very softly.
“Oh, that was so long ago,”
sighed Joel; “so very long ago! And I’ve
had no Chris’mas since-only once,
when our little one-Marthy’s an’
mine-you remember him, Santa Claus?”
“Yes,” said Santa Claus,
“a toddling little boy with blue eyes-”
“Like his mother,” interrupted
Joel; “an’ he was like her, too-so
gentle an’ lovin’, only we called him Joel,
for that was my father’s name and it kind o’
run in the fam’ly. He wa’ n’t
more ’n three years old when you came with your
Chris’mas presents for him, Santa Claus.
We had told him about you, and he used to go to the
chimney every night and make a little prayer about
what he wanted you to bring him. And you brought
’em, too-a stick-horse, an’
a picture-book, an’ some blocks, an’ a
drum-they ’re on the shelf in the
closet there, and his little Chris’mas stockin’
with ’em-I ’ve saved ’em
all, an’ I ’ve taken ’em down
an’ held ’em in my hands, oh, so many times!”
“But when I came again,” said Santa Claus-
“His little bed was empty, an’
I was alone. It killed his mother-Marthy
was so tender-hearted; she kind o’ drooped an’
pined after that. So now they ’ve
been asleep side by side in the buryin’-ground
these thirty years.
“That’s why I ’m
so sad-like whenever Chris’mas comes,”
said Joel, after a pause. “The thinkin’
of long ago makes me bitter almost. It’s
so different now from what it used to be.”
“No, Joel, oh, no,” said
Santa Claus. “’T is the same world, and
human nature is the same and always will be.
But Christmas is for the little folks, and you, who
are old and grizzled now, must know it and love it
only through the gladness it brings the little ones.”
“True,” groaned Joel;
“but how may I know and feel this gladness when
I have no little stocking hanging in my chimney corner-no
child to please me with his prattle? See, I
am alone.”
“No, you ’re not alone,
Joel,” said Santa Claus. “There are
children in this great city who would love and bless
you for your goodness if you but touched their hearts.
Make them happy, Joel; send by me this night some
gift to the little boy in the old house yonder-he
is poor and sick; a simple toy will fill his Christmas
with gladness.”
“His little sister, too-take
her some present,” said Joel; “make
them happy for me, Santa Claus-you are right-make
them happy for me.”
How sweetly Joel slept! When
he awoke, the sunlight streamed in through the window
and seemed to bid him a merry Christmas. How
contented and happy Joel felt! It must have been
the talk with Santa Claus that did it all; he had
never known a sweeter sense of peace. A little
girl came out of the house over the way. She
had a new doll in her arms, and she sang a merry little
song and she laughed with joy as she skipped along
the street. Ay, and at the window sat the little
sick boy, and the toy Santa Claus left him seemed to
have brought him strength and health, for his eyes
sparkled and his cheeks glowed, and it was plain to
see his heart was full of happiness.
And, oh! how the chimes did ring out,
and how joyfully they sang their Christmas carol that
morning! They sang of Bethlehem and the manger
and the Babe; they sang of love and charity, till all
the Christmas air seemed full of angel voices.
Carol of the Christmas morn-
Carol of the Christ-child
born-
Carol to the list’ning sky
Till it echoes back again
“Glory be to God on
high,
Peace on earth, good will
tow’rd men!”
So all this music-the carol
of the chimes, the sound of children’s voices,
the smile of the poor little boy over the way-all
this sweet music crept into Joel’s heart that
Christmas morning; yes, and with these sweet, holy
influences came others so subtile and divine that,
in its silent communion with them, Joel’s heart
cried out amen and amen to the glory of the Christmas
time.