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Old Father Christmas






J. H. EWING


THE custom of Christmas-trees came from Germany. I can remember when
they were first introduced into England, and what wonderful things we
thought them. Now, every village school has its tree, and the scholars
openly discuss whether the presents have been 'good,' or 'mean,' as
compared with other trees in former years. The first one that I ever saw
I believed to have come from Good Father Christmas himself; but little
boys have grown too wise now to be taken in for their own amusement.
They are not excited by secret and mysterious preparations in the back
drawing-room; they hardly confess to the thrill--which I feel to this
day--when the folding doors are thrown open, and amid the blaze of
tapers, mamma, like a Fate, advances with her scissors to give every one
what falls to his lot.

"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen a
Christmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was the picture
of that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother's picture-book.

"'What are those things on the tree?' I asked.

"'Candles,' said my father.

"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?'

"'Those are toys, my son.'

"'Are they ever taken off?'

"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand around
the tree.'

"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voice
murmured, 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'

"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?'

"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirty
years, child,' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus one
thousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great Christmas
Day.

"'He looks very old,' whispered Patty.

"And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called 'Bible-learned,' said
thoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, 'Then he's older than
Methuselah.'

"But my father had left the room, and did not hear my difficulty.

"November and December went by, and still the picture-book kept all its
charm for Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old Father
Christmas as children can love and realize a fancy friend. To those who
remember the fancies of their childhood I need say no more.

"Christmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother were
mysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only one
parlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the
kitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'all over
the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince pies, and puddings were
with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place there for children
and books to sit with their toes in the fire, when a body wanted to be
at the oven all along. The cat was enough for her temper,' she added.

"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her out
into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft steps,
and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm hearth, only to
fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's hasty slipper.

"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and
went to the back door.

"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all
weathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over our
two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of Dick,
for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy helping his
father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church, which were to
hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea of church
decoration in my young days. You have improved on your elders there,
young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still, the sprigs of
red and green were better than nothing, and, like your lovely wreaths
and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old black wood were
bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas joy; and, if only
one knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose.

"Well, Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran across the little yard
and looked over the wall at the end to see if we could see anything or
anybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow field sloping
prettily away to a little hill about three quarters of a mile distant;
which, catching some fine breezes from the moors beyond, was held to be
a place of cure for whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarly
called. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty,
when we were recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was
the only 'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well
as if we had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside.

"This hill was now covered with snow and stood off against the gray sky.
The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gay things
to be seen were the berries on the holly hedge, in the little
lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to the
Hall--and the fat robin, that was staring at me. I was looking at the
robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner of Kitty's
shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from our heads, and
cried:

"'Look!'

"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beard were
as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of apple that
keeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snow about
him in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree.

"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath, we exclaimed,
'It's Old Father Christmas!'

"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we did
not happen to be acquainted and that he was taking a little fir-tree up
to the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a very
good-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up by
smiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'aye, aye, to be
sure!' at likely intervals.

"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded so
earnestly that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, Father
Christmas!'

"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice.

"'Then you are Father Christmas?' said Patty.

"'And a happy New Year,' was Father Christmas's reply, which rather put
me out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner that Patty went on,
'You're very old, aren't you?'

"'So I be, miss, so I be,' said Father Christmas, nodding.

"'Father says you're eighteen hundred and thirty years old,' I muttered.

"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said Father Christmas. 'I'm a long age.'

"A very long age, thought I, and I added, 'You're nearly twice as old
as Methuselah, you know,' thinking that this might have struck him.

"'Aye, aye,' said Father Christmas; but he did not seem to think
anything of it. After a pause he held up the tree, and cried, 'D'ye know
what this is, little miss?'

"'A Christmas-tree,' said Patty.

"And the old man smiled and nodded.

"I leant over the wall, and shouted, 'But there are no candles.'

"'By and by,' said Father Christmas, nodding as before. 'When it's dark
they'll all be lighted up. That'll be a fine sight!'

"'Toys, too, there'll be, won't there?' said Patty.

"Father Christmas nodded his head. 'And sweeties,' he added,
expressively.

"I could feel Patty trembling, and my own heart beat fast. The thought
which agitated us both was this: 'Was Father Christmas bringing the tree
to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty also, kept us from asking
outright.

"Only when the old man shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, I
cried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?'

"'I'm coming back by and by,' said he.

"'How soon?' cried Patty.

"'About four o'clock,' said the old man smiling. 'I'm only going up
yonder.'

"And, nodding and smiling as he went, he passed away down the lane.

"'Up yonder!' This puzzled us. Father Christmas had pointed, but so
indefinitely that he might have been pointing to the sky, or the fields,
or the little wood at the end of the Squire's grounds. I thought the
latter, and suggested to Patty that perhaps he had some place
underground like Aladdin's cave, where he got the candles, and all the
pretty things for the tree. This idea pleased us both, and we amused
ourselves by wondering what Old Father Christmas would choose for us
from his stores in that wonderful hole where he dressed his
Christmas-trees.

"'I wonder, Patty,' said I, 'why there's no picture of Father
Christmas's dog in the book.' For at the old man's heels in the lane
there crept a little brown and white spaniel looking very dirty in the
snow.

"'Perhaps it's a new dog that he's got to take care of his cave,' said
Patty.

"When we went indoors we examined the picture afresh by the dim light
from the passage window, but there was no dog there.

"My father passed us at this moment, and patted my head. 'Father,' said
I, 'I don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is going to bring
us a Christmas-tree to-night.'

"'Who's been telling you that?' said my father. But he passed on before
I could explain that we had seen Father Christmas himself, and had had
his word for it that he would return at four o'clock, and that the
candles on his tree would be lighted as soon as it was dark.

"We hovered on the outskirts of the rooms till four o'clock came. We sat
on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I was just learning to
read; and Patty made herself giddy with constantly looking up and
counting the four strokes, toward which the hour hand slowly moved. We
put our noses into the kitchen now and then, to smell the cakes and get
warm, and anon we hung about the parlour door, and were most unjustly
accused of trying to peep. What did we care what our mother was doing in
the parlour?--we, who had seen Old Father Christmas himself, and were
expecting him back again every moment!

"At last the church clock struck. The sounds boomed heavily through the
frost, and Patty thought there were four of them. Then, after due
choking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we counted the strokes
quite clearly--one! two! three! four! Then we got Kitty's shawl once
more, and stole out into the back-yard. We ran to our old place, and
peeped, but could see nothing.

"'We'd better get up on to the wall,' I said; and with some difficulty
and distress from rubbing her bare knees against the cold stone, and
getting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on to the coping of the
little wall. I was just struggling after her, when something warm and
something cold coming suddenly against the bare calves of my legs made
me shriek with fright. I came down 'with a run' and bruised my knees, my
elbows, and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone up Patty's sleeves
went down my neck. Then I found that the cold thing was a dog's nose and
the warm thing was his tongue; and Patty cried from her post of
observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog and he's licking your legs.'

"It really was the dirty little brown and white spaniel, and he
persisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and making curious little
noises, that must have meant something if one had known his language. I
was rather harassed at the moment. My legs were sore, I was a little
afraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of sitting on the wall
without me.

"'You won't fall,' I said to her. 'Get down, will you?' I said to the
dog.

"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall,' said Patty.

"'Bow! wow!' said the dog.

"I pulled Patty down, and the dog tried to pull me down; but when my
little sister was on her feet, to my relief, he transferred his
attentions to her. When he had jumped at her, and licked her several
times, he turned around and ran away.

"'He's gone,' said I; 'I'm so glad.'

"But even as I spoke he was back again, crouching at Patty's feet, and
glaring at her with eyes the colour of his ears.

"Now, Patty was very fond of animals, and when the dog looked at her
she looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He wants us to go with
him.'

"On which (as if he understood our language, though we were ignorant of
his) the spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he could; and
Patty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my mind--'Perhaps Father
Christmas has sent him for us.'

"The idea was rather favoured by the fact he led us up the lane. Only a
little way; then he stopped by something lying in the ditch--and once
more we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old Father Christmas!'

"Returning from the Hall, the old man had slipped upon a bit of ice, and
lay stunned in the snow.

"Patty began to cry. 'I think he's dead!' she sobbed.

"'He is so very old, I don't wonder,' I murmured; 'but perhaps he's not.
I'll fetch father.'

"My father and Kitty were soon on the spot. Kitty was as strong as a
man; and they carried Father Christmas between them into the kitchen.
There he quickly revived.

"I must do Kitty the justice to say that she did not utter a word of
complaint at the disturbance of her labours; and that she drew the old
man's chair close up to the oven with her own hand. She was so much
affected by the behaviour of his dog that she admitted him even to the
hearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how matters stood, lay
down with her back so close to the spaniel's that Kitty could not expel
one without kicking both.

"For our parts, we felt sadly anxious about the tree; otherwise we could
have wished for no better treat than to sit at Kitty's round table
taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual fare of thick bread and
treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious variety of cakes, which
were none the worse to us for being 'tasters and wasters'--that is,
little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to try the state of the
oven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt in the baking.

"Well, there we sat, helping Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, and
wondering in our hearts what could have become of the tree.

"Patty and I felt a delicacy in asking Old Father Christmas about the
tree. It was not until we had had tea three times round, with tasters
and wasters to match, that Patty said very gently: 'It's quite dark
now.' And then she heaved a deep sigh.

"Burning anxiety overcame me. I leaned toward Father Christmas, and
shouted--I had found out that it was needful to shout----

"'I suppose the candles are on the tree now?'

"'Just about putting of 'em on,' said Father Christmas.

"'And the presents, too?' said Patty.

"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said Father Christmas, and he smiled
delightfully.

"I was thinking what further questions I might venture upon, when he
pushed his cup toward Patty saying, 'Since you are so pressing, miss,
I'll take another dish.'

"And Kitty, swooping on us from the oven, cried, 'Make yourself at home,
sir; there's more where these came from. Make a long arm, Miss Patty,
and hand them cakes.'

"So we had to devote ourselves to the duties of the table; and Patty,
holding the lid with one hand and pouring with the other, supplied
Father Christmas's wants with a heavy heart.

"At last he was satisfied. I said grace, during which he stood, and,
indeed, he stood for some time afterward with his eyes shut--I fancy
under the impression that I was still speaking. He had just said a
fervent 'amen,' and reseated himself, when my father put his head into
the kitchen, and made this remarkable statement:

"'Old Father Christmas has sent a tree to the young people.'

"Patty and I uttered a cry of delight, and we forthwith danced round the
old man, saying, 'How nice! Oh, how kind of you!' which I think must
have bewildered him, but he only smiled and nodded.

"'Come along,' said my father. 'Come, children. Come, Reuben. Come,
Kitty.'

"And he went into the parlour, and we all followed him.

"My godmother's picture of a Christmas-tree was very pretty; and the
flames of the candles were so naturally done in red and yellow that I
always wondered that they did not shine at night. But the picture was
nothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost in the dark, for, as
Kitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at meal-times.' And when
the parlour door was thrown open, and the tree, with lighted tapers on
all the branches, burst upon our view, the blaze was dazzling, and threw
such a glory round the little gifts, and the bags of coloured muslin,
with acid drops and pink rose drops and comfits inside, as I shall never
forget. We all got something; and Patty and I, at any rate, believed
that the things came from the stores of Old Father Christmas. We were
not undeceived even by his gratefully accepting a bundle of old clothes
which had been hastily put together to form his present.

"We were all very happy; even Kitty, I think, though she kept her
sleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge enjoying herself (a weak
point in some energetic characters). She went back to her oven before
the lights were out and the angel on the top of the tree taken down. She
locked up her present (a little work-box) at once. She often showed it
off afterward, but it was kept in the same bit of tissue paper till she
died. Our presents certainly did not last so long!

"The old man died about a week afterward, so we never made his
acquaintance as a common personage. When he was buried, his little dog
came to us. I suppose he remembered the hospitality he had received.
Patty adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always looked on him
with favour. I hoped during our rambles together in the following summer
that he would lead us at last to the cave where Christmas-trees are
dressed. But he never did.

"Our parents often spoke of his late master as 'old Reuben,' but
children are not easily disabused of a favourite fancy, and in Patty's
thoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully remembered as Old
Father Christmas."





Next: A Christmas Carol

Previous: The Queerest Christmas



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