He was a wicked-looking Imp, and he lived in a bed curtain.

No one knew he was in the house, not even the master and mistress. The little girl who slept in the chintz-curtained bed was the only person who knew of his existence, and she never mentioned him, even to her old nurse.

She had made his acquaintance one Christmas Eve, as she lay awake, trying to keep her tired eyes open long enough to see Santa Klaus come down the chimney. The Imp sprang into view with a cr-r-r-ick, cr-r-r-ack of falling wood in the great fireplace, and there he stood bowing to Marianne from the left-hand corner of the chintz curtain.

A green leaf formed his hat, some straggling branches his feet; his thin body was a single rose-stem, and his red face a crumpled rose-bud.

A flaw in the printing of the chintz curtain had given him life a life distinct from that of the other rose leaves.

“You’re lying awake very late to-night what’s that for?” he enquired, shaking the leaf he wore upon his head, and looking at Marianne searchingly.

“Why, don’t you see I’m waiting for Santa Klaus?” replied Marianne. “I’ve always missed him before, but this time nothing shall make me go to sleep!” She sat up in bed and opened her eyes as widely as possible.

“He has generally been here before this,” said the Imp. “I can remember your great-aunt sleeping in this very bed and being in just the same fuss. I got down and danced about all night, and she thought I was earwigs.”

“I should never think you were an earwig you’re too pink and green but don’t talk, I can hear something buzzing.”

“Santa Klaus doesn’t buzz,” said the Chintz Imp. “He comes down flop! Once in your aunt’s time, I knew him nearly stick in the chimney. He had too many things in his sack. You should have heard how he struggled, it was like thunder! Everyone said how high the wind was.”

“I hope he won’t do it to-night,” said Marianne, “I could never pull him down by myself!”

As she spoke the room seemed to be violently shaken, and there was a sound of falling plaster, followed by some loud kicks.

“Whew w!” cried the Chintz Imp, “he’s done it again!”

Marianne started up in great excitement. She sprang from her bed, and ran towards the old-fashioned fireplace.

Nothing was at first to be seen; but as the fire had died down to a few hot embers, Marianne could, by craning her head forwards, look right up into the misty darkness of the great chimney.

There, to her astonishment, she saw a pair of large brown-covered feet hanging down helplessly; while a deep voice from above cried

“Get me out of this, or I shall break down the chimney!”

“Oh, what am I to do?” exclaimed Marianne anxiously, “I’m not tall enough to reach you! Shall I fetch my Aunt Olga, or would you prefer my old nurse?”

“Certainly not,” said the voice, with decision. “I have never been seen by a grown-up person, and I don’t intend to begin now. Either you must get me down by yourself, or I shall manage to work out at the top again and then I’m sorry to say you’ll have to go without your presents.”

Marianne sat down on the hearthrug in a state of anxious consideration. There waved the great brown feet, and two or three steps would land them safely on the hearthrug, but how could it possibly be managed?

The Chintz Imp curled up his green legs and sat down beside her, his bright red eyes blinking thoughtfully.

“We must hang on to him,” he said at last; “or what do you say to my trying to collect a dozen or so children, to pull?”

“Why they’d all be in bed hours ago,” said Marianne. “Besides, their parents would never let them come, and Uncle Max would want to know whatever we were doing.”

“Yes. I see that idea is no good. Have you such a thing as a pocket-knife?” enquired the Chintz Imp.

“A beauty,” said Marianne; “four blades, a button-hook, and a corkscrew.”

“Ah, the corkscrew might be of some use if we could draw him out with it; but he might object. However, I’ll try what I can do with the knife.”

“You won’t cut him! You’ll have to be very careful!”

“Of course,” said the Chintz Imp. “Do you think I am as old as your great-aunt, without knowing much more than you do! Bring me the knife. I’m going to swarm up the chimney and scratch away the mortar. Leave it entirely to me, and Santa Klaus will be down here in an hour or two!”

Marianne ran off to her little play box, and returned with the knife. It was almost as large as the Chintz Imp, but he possessed so much wiry strength in his thin arms and backbone that he was able to clamber up the chimney without difficulty.

“Are you all right?” cried Marianne, standing with her bare feet on the edge of the stone fender, and holding up the night-light as high as she could without singeing Santa Klaus.

“Getting up,” replied the Chintz Imp, “but he’s in very tight!”

“Is it his sack that’s stuck?” enquired Marianne, anxiously.

“Yes, yes! It’s only my sack!” cried the deep voice; “you get that loose, and I shall drop into the room like a fairy.”

Marianne strained her eyes up the chimney, but could see nothing.

“Take care! Here’s a lot of plaster falling!”

The warning was just in time, for, as Marianne’s head disappeared, a handful of cement fell rattling into the fireplace, just escaping her bare feet as she jumped on to the hearthrug.

“The knife does beautifully,” cried the voice of the Chintz Imp. “I think when I’ve loosened this paint box, he’ll fall down immediately.”

“Oh, do be careful!” said Marianne. “A paint box is what I’ve been longing for! Don’t chip it if you can possibly help it!”

“Of course I shan’t,” replied the Chintz Imp. “If he wouldn’t kick so much, I should get him out in half the time.”

“I’m not kicking,” cried Santa Klaus’s voice indignantly. “I’ve been as still as a rock, even with that horrid penknife close to my ear the whole time.”

“Have a little patience,” said the Chintz Imp soothingly. “I promise not to hurt you.”

Marianne began to feel very cold. The excitement, so far, had buoyed her up; but now the monotonous chip, chipping of the Chintz Imp continued so long that she jumped into her chintz-curtained bed, determined to stay there until something new and interesting called her up again.

“I can’t do any good, so I may as well be comfortable,” she thought, and pulled the eider-down quilt up to her chin luxuriously.

“I hope he’ll get out! It would be a disappointment to have that paint-box taken away again. Perhaps it would be given to someone who wouldn’t care for it. I wonder if it’s tin, with moist colours? I must ask Uncle Max to have that chimney made wider ” At this point Marianne’s eyes closed and she fell asleep.

She was awakened by a loud thump! that seemed to shake the very bed in which she was lying; and as she sprang up in a state of great excitement, she saw Santa Klaus picking himself up from the hearthrug on which he had apparently fallen with great violence.

“Oh dear!” cried Marianne, “I hope you are not hurt? How careless of the Chintz Imp to throw you down like that!”

“It was no one’s fault but my own,” said Santa Klaus as he dusted the remains of soot and plaster off his brown cloak. “I should have remembered my experience with your great-aunt, but I knew how much you wanted that paint-box,” and he slipped into Marianne’s stocking a japanned box with a whole sheaf of paint brushes.

“Oh, thank you, Santa Klaus! You can’t think how I’ve wished for it; my own is such a horrid little thing. And those beautiful pictures for my scrap-book, and the things for the doll’s house and I really believe that’s the book of fairy tales I’ve been longing for for months!”

Marianne’s face shone with delighted expectation as she opened the top of her stocking and peeped in.

“Not till the morning,” cried Santa Klaus; “you know my rule,” and patting Marianne on the head, he disappeared, with his sack much lightened, up the chimney.

“Oh, do come here!” cried Marianne to the Chintz Imp. “I must talk to somebody.”

“I think you certainly ought to talk to me,” said the Chintz Imp, coming carefully down the brickwork, hand over hand, and laying the knife down in the fender. “Without me you wouldn’t have had a single present.”

“Of course, I’m very grateful,” said Marianne. “I wish he had brought you something, though I’m sure I don’t know what would be useful to you.”

“Well, I should like a good many things,” replied the Chintz Imp, perching himself on a brass knob at the end of the bedstead, “and one or two I think you can get me easily. I’m tired of this room and the little society I see, and I long for the great world. Can’t you get me put on a settee in the Servants’ Hall, or somewhere lively?”

“I’ll ask Aunt Olga,” said Marianne. “She promised me a Christmas present, and I was to choose. Suppose I choose new bed curtains?”

“Certainly,” said the Chintz Imp, “but be sure you bargain to hang me in some cheerful place. Sixty years in one room is too much of a good thing I want a change!” and he stretched himself wearily.

“I really will do my best for you,” said Marianne. “I’m afraid you’re too faded for the drawing-room, but I won’t have new curtains until I can see you put somewhere nice. I suppose you wouldn’t like the passages?”

“Decidedly not,” replied the Chintz Imp. “Dull places. No fun, and nothing going on. The Servants’ Hall, or stay where I am!” He folded his green arms with determination.

“I’m sure I can manage it,” said Marianne, and fell asleep again while she was arranging the words in which she should make the suggestion to Aunt Olga.

The next day Marianne awoke betimes, and immediately inspected the contents of her stocking.

There, stuffed clumsily inside it, was everything she had been wishing for during the year, and more too!

“Do come and look at my things!” cried Marianne to the Chintz Imp, but he remained rigidly against his shiny spotted background and refused to move, though Marianne thought she saw a twinkle in his eye, which showed he was not quite so impassive as he appeared to be.

“I’ll try and get him put into the Servants’ Hall as soon as possible,” she thought. “It makes me quite nervous to think he may pounce upon me any minute. Besides, one must keep one’s promises! How extraordinary it is he can make himself so perfectly flat.”

As soon as she was dressed she ran down to the dining room.

“Dear Aunt Olga, I’ve got such quantities of things to show you!” she cried, “and as you said I might choose, may I please have new chintz to my bed, and no pattern on it, so that it can’t come out and be Imps I mean, have funny shapes on it. And may my old curtains be put in the Servants’ Hall? He says it will be more cheerful for him, and though, of course, he’s been very kind to me, I think I would rather he went somewhere else. Besides, it is dull for him up there, all by himself I mean, it would be dull for any kind of chintz.”

“I do think Santa Klaus has got into your head, Marianne!” said Aunt Olga, laughing; but she promised to buy the new curtains.

In course of time they arrived the palest blue, with little harmless frillings to them; and the old chintz was carried off to the Servants’ Hall to make a box cover.

There it still hangs, and if you stoop down and examine it closely, you will see the Chintz Imp looking more lively than ever, with his green hat on one side, and a twinkling red eye on the watch for any sort of amusement.

Marianne often goes to see him, but, rather to her disappointment, he looks the other way, and appears not to recognize her.

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” she says to herself, “for he seems very happy, and if the servants knew he was here I believe they would turn him out immediately.”