"I guess we'll get along all right," said Nicholas in a satisfied tone. "Now to find your master and see about this sale."
"Here's the Squire now," called out one of the men. "Nicholas wants to buy Donder and Blitzen, Squire."
The Squire, a bent old man with a worried look on his face, seemed dazed by this mob of people taking possession of his house and goods.
"Well, he can't have Donder and Blitzen, alone," he said almost fretfully. "That set of reindeer goes together or not at all. Why, Donder would go raving mad if you tried to separate her from the rest of her family."
"Family!" exclaimed Nicholas. "Why, Squire, I need only two reindeer. How many more . . ."
Suddenly there was a loud crash of breaking wood, a mad rush of people away from one of the stalls, and seemingly in one brown streak, there was a little reindeer running madly about the farmyard, pursuing one unfortunate villager who couldn't run as fast as the others.
"That's Vixen," shouted the old Squire, distracted. "Here, catch him quick. He's a young imp. He'll hurt somebody."
Everybody ran about in a frenzy, but Vixen was nimble, and even paused in his mad rush to look impudently over his shoulder at his pursuers. Then he would give a naughty toss of his head as if to say, "Come, catch me," and was off again, leaping over carts and farming implements, knocking a man's hat off with the young horns just beginning to grow, finally clearing a high fence with one bound, and paused panting on the other side to gaze through the bars mischievously at the hot, breathless group of men.
EVERYBODY RAN ABOUT IN A FRENZY.
Nicholas had not joined in the chase; he was standing at the door of the stalls, holding on to his fat stomach and shaking all over with mirth.
"I'll take the lot of them," he cried out. "I don't know what the others are like, but I must have that little Vixen. I haven't laughed so much in years. Why, just to see the neat way he clipped off Ivan Prosof's hat!" He went into another gale of laughter, then made his way through the crowd to the Squire, where he finally concluded the bargain, and acquired not two, but eight reindeer,—Donder and Blitzen, the mamma and papa, with their six children, Dasher and Dancer, Comet and Cupid, and Prancer and Vixen.
YOU'D never recognize the wood-carver's cottage now as the peaceful little dwelling it once had been. In order to shelter his eight reindeer, Nicholas had to build an extra shed which was almost as large as the cottage itself. All would be well if the animals stayed where they belonged, but Vixen seemed to take delight in butting his head against the door of his stall so that Nicholas had to rebuild it three times. He would hear a loud crash and look up from his work with a sigh. "I suppose that's Vixen again. Now if he were only as quiet and gentle as his brothers—well, I don't suppose I'd like him as well," he concluded with a rueful shake of his head.
The little reindeer returned his master's affection, but chose the most noisy means of expressing it. He wanted to be as close to Nicholas as possible and would break down one partition after another, in order that he might finally caper up to the door of his cottage and leap around delightedly until his friend noticed him.
Nicholas tried to be severe. "Now, this time, you'll be punished. I have too much work to do to bother chasing you around." And he would make a mad dash after the young imp, who only treated it as a game and retreated quickly behind a neighboring tree, poking his head drolly around the trunk and almost laughing with glee at Nicholas' fat form panting for breath as he tried to catch him.
Then Nicholas would try coaxing. "There now, be a good little reindeer. If you don't behave, I won't take you out with me on Christmas Eve, and you know we all want to have a fine showing. There's that secret I told you about, in the shed." He finally reached Vixen's side, and placing his arm lovingly around his neck, talked gently and soothingly to the little animal, who looked with soft, delighted eyes at his master.
And Nicholas would lead him back to his stall and return to his work satisfied that once more he had quelled this young rebel. He had no trouble at all with the old deer, Donder and Blitzen; and Prancer, Dasher, Dancer, Cupid, and Comet were gentle creatures who patiently endured all the nips on the ear which was Vixen's way of teasing his more settled brothers.
Nicholas was completing plans for a Christmas Eve grander than any he had ever had. He worked day and night to finish his toy-making; he made a final inspection of the mysterious object in the wood-shed; he scrubbed and curried his reindeer until their hides were sleek and shining. Finally the great night arrived. Nicholas made many trips back and forth to the wood-shed, his arms laden with bright little dolls, houses, boats, and animals. After three hours of preparation, everything seemed to be ready. It was almost midnight. Nicholas opened the stall where his reindeer were waiting and led them out into the yard.
"Donder and Blitzen at the head," he said, "then Dasher and Dancer, because they're the next strongest, and then Comet and Cupid; and then Prancer and—why where's Vixen?"
The other deer looked resignedly at their master and settled down to wait. You might know Vixen would be up to something at such an important time!
Nicholas dashed madly in and out of the stable, calling, "Vixen! Vixen! you young imp, where are you? If I catch you, I'll . . ."
Suddenly there was an answering whimper from somewhere over his head. He looked up; Donder and Blitzen looked up at their bad child; Prancer, Dasher, Dancer, Cupid, and Comet looked up at their mischievous young brother, who was perched on the roof of the cottage, playfully butting the chimney with his horns.
"You bad reindeer! How did you get up there? Oh, I see. Climbed the low shed and then jumped over to the cottage roof. And how are you going to get down, hey? Well, I'll tell you," Nicholas shouted, really angry now, for he would stand no trifling about his Christmas visits to the children. "I'll tell you; you won't get down. You'll stay there, for all I care. I'll leave Prancer at home and take only six. I suppose you are afraid to jump down again, you bold imp! Well, I'll not help you. I'm through with you."
Vixen whimpered again. He was really sorry, and he was really frightened, so frightened that he couldn't remember clearly how it was he had reached the roof. He leaned against the chimney, and wet tears ran down his nose. He looked beseechingly down at Nicholas, but his master turned sternly away and began harnessing the other deer together. Vixen became annoyed. How dare they leave without him! He stamped an angry little hoof on the hard crust of snow. Crack went the crust, and Vixen toppled over on the roof and felt himself carried down the slope, swiftly, swiftly; carried right over the edge, and landed head first in a soft snow-bank right at Nicholas' feet. All you could see of the naughty little fellow were his four hoofs waving madly in the air. Nicholas began to laugh, the other reindeer lifted their heads in the air and seemed to enjoy the scene too, and it was a thoroughly ashamed and meek little reindeer who finally scrambled out of the snow-bank and took his place quietly beside Prancer.
HIS FOUR HOOFS WAVING MADLY IN THE AIR.
Now for the big show! Nicholas finished tying the eight reindeer to each other with a harness bright with jingling silver bells; he slowly backed them to the wood-shed door, which he opened, disclosing a most beautiful sight. There stood a bright, shining red sleigh, trimmed with silver stripes and stars, the runner curving up in front to form a swan's head, the back roomy enough to hold toys for several villages full of children. Nicholas backed his reindeer into the shafts; he climbed up on the high seat, beautifully padded with cushions made of soft doe-skin; he took out of the socket a long, shiny black whip, snapped it in the air, and they were off!
The villagers were awakened from their sleep by a merry jingling of silver bells, by the stamp of reindeer's hoofs on the hard snow, by the snap of a whip. They peeked out from behind their curtains and saw a brave sight. They saw by the white light of the moon, a shining red sleigh drawn by eight prancing reindeer, whose flying hoofs went as fast as lightning; they saw a well-loved figure perched high up on his seat, snapping a long, black whip in the
air with one hand and guiding his reindeer with the other—a big, round man dressed in a red belted tunic, trimmed with white fur, baggy trousers stuffed into high black leggings, and a close-fitting red stocking-cap which flew in the wind. They were not close enough to see how the sharp rush of air made his rosy cheeks even rosier, and nipped his nose so that it, too, was almost the color of his suit, and stung his bright blue eyes so that they twinkled and glistened like the Christmas snow; they were not close enough to see his face, but one and all, as they returned to their warm beds, murmured out of full hearts, "That's Nicholas, on his way to the children. God bless him!"
ONE year, when Nicholas was about fifty years old, and his hair and beard were getting as white as the snow around his cottage, and he was growing as round as the balls he gave the children, a strange family came to live in the village. Not much of a family, to be sure—just one little old man, as brown and wrinkled as a nut, and a thin little girl, who shrank away from the crowd of villagers who had gathered, as they always gathered when something new and strange was happening.
"His name is Carl Dinsler," one woman whispered. "The old Squire's housekeeper told me about him. They say he's very rich. He must be to have money enough to buy the big house on the hill."
"He may be rich," remarked another, "but he certainly doesn't look it. Why, that poor old nag he drove into the village must be almost a hundred, and did you see how poorly and shabbily he was dressed?"
"Yes, and that poor little mite he had with him; she looks as though a good meal wouldn't do her any harm. Who is she, anyway?"
"That's his granddaughter. The child's parents died just a short while ago, away down in the southlands, and they say this old man bought the house up here to be alone."
"He can stay alone, then," sniffed another woman. "Did you see the black looks he turned on us all, when we only came out to welcome them to the village?"
"Yes," sighed another, "but somehow I pity that little one. Who's to take care of her up in that big barn of a place?"
It was lucky the villagers had a chance to get a good look at the newcomers on their first appearance in town; for after that day, little was seen of them. The little girl seemed to have vanished completely; the old man descended the hill only to buy small amounts of food—some fish and some flour. And the very curious ones, who climbed the hill just to see what was going on, came back to the village with strange news indeed!
"Do you know what he has done?" demanded one small boy of an interested group. "He's nailed up all the gates and left only the front one open, and even that he keeps locked with a bolt as long as this." He spread his hands about a yard apart. His listeners gasped. "Yes, and that's not all. I don't know how you could get into the house, for he's put up boards where the front and side doors used to be and on all the windows. There's not one sign of life in the old place now. You'd never know a soul lived there."
"Why, the man must be crazy," they all said, astounded. "He must be afraid of somebody."
"Afraid, nothing!" one man remarked scornfully. "Unless he's afraid someone will steal his wealth away from him."
"He's a surly old wretch," added the schoolmaster. "I tried to see him the other day to ask if he was going to send the child to school. He wouldn't let me get any farther than the front gate. He wanted to know all about the school, and when I told him the children usually brought vegetables or meat or a few coins each week to pay for their schooling, he snarled at me, and told me to go about my business; that he'd take care of his grandchild's education."
"The poor little thing," exclaimed one motherly-looking woman, "I'd like to tell that old miser what I think of him."
"Well, this is a piece of news that will interest Nicholas, the wood-carver," said another. "One more child in the village, and a lonely one, too."
"Nicholas knows all about her," they heard a deep voice say, and all turned to see that it was the wood-carver himself, who had joined the group unnoticed. "Her name is Katje. I once knew a little girl named Katje," he went on with a sad, faraway look in his usually merry blue eyes, "and that's why I'd like to do something for this poor child."
"Why, how did you find out her name, Nicholas? "
"She was wandering around in the yard like a forlorn little puppy who's been locked in," Nicholas answered. "I was passing that way and stopped at the gate to talk with her. She says she's not allowed to go outside the fence, and that she can play in the yard only an hour each day. She also told me that her grandfather doesn't want her to mix with the village children for fear she'll talk about the gold he has."
The honest villagers were indignant. "As if we'd touch his old money," they said angrily.
"I don't know what we can do about it," said Nicholas thoughtfully. "We can't force our way into the house, and after all, it's his own grandchild. I guess we'll just have to wait around and see what happens. I can't believe anyone could stay as hard as that with a little child in the house."
The others shook their heads. "He's hard all through, that old rascal. Why, I'll wager he wouldn't even let her put out her stocking on Christmas Eve."
"That's a safe wager," laughed Nicholas. "He wouldn't open his front door even to let something free come in."
The crowd dispersed, and Nicholas went back to his work-bench; but all through the months that followed, his mind was occupied with the thought of the lonely little Katje. He saw her several times after that, and learned that it was true that she would not be allowed to hang up her stocking. The last time he visited her he had been seen by old Dinsler, who waved his stick at him and told him angrily to keep away from his house and his grandchild. And after that day, Katje was to be seen no more.
Hoping for the best, however, Nicholas carefully made a few little toys for Katje and packed them away with his other gifts, and went on thinking and thinking until, just about a week before Christmas, when he was taking a walk around the big boarded-up house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Katje, a wonderful idea struck him. He had been staring up at the forbidding-looking house, all barred and locked, when his attention was caught by the huge stone chimney on the roof. His eyes brightened; he slapped his thigh and chuckled to himself. "I'll try it! I may get stuck, but it's worth the attempt."
Christmas Eve that year was a dark, moonless night. The wind whistled mournfully through the deserted streets, and a cold sleet stung Nicholas' face and covered his sleigh and reindeer with a shining coat of ice.
"Come on now, my good lads," he encouraged his deer. "Trip's almost over; we've only the house on the hill now. It'll probably take me the rest of the night," he muttered to himself, shivering in his red coat and looking like a big snow-man, with the rain and sleet forming icicles on his snowy white beard.
He tied the deer to the front gate and then, taking his sack from the back of the sleigh, climbed from his high seat to the top bar of the fence, and in a moment was down in the yard. He stopped to listen; not a sound could be heard but a few shutters banging in the wind and the sighing of the big pines.
He crept over to the side of the house, where a sort of porch covered one door and made an excellent ladder to the roof. He had a hard time, fat and bulky as he was and encumbered by the sack on his back; but he finally puffed his way up to the top of the porch, and in a few minutes was crouched on the sloping roof of the house.
Now was the dangerous part. The roof was slippery with the sleet and rain that had fallen; he had to take out his little knife and hack away the ice, to form wedges where he could get a foothold. Once he paused breathless, when he thought he heard footsteps in the darkness below. He listened intently, but discovered it was only the impatient stamping of one of his reindeer.
NICHOLAS PAUSED BREATHLESS.
Finally a big shape loomed up above him—it was the chimney. Nicholas stopped to rest a moment, then leaned over the wide edge and looked down into inky blackness.
"Just as I thought," he murmured in a satisfied tone. "The old miser lets his fire go out nights, even suc
h a bitter cold one as this."
He climbed over the edge and then began his slow, perilous descent, feeling carefully with his feet for jutting bricks, pressing one hand flat on the sides, and bracing his back firmly against the walls, and so slowly made his way through the sooty chimney until he finally felt solid earth beneath his feet.
He stepped out of the fireplace into a room which was only slightly lighter than the black chimney. When his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he made out the dim outlines of a table and, groping around, found the stub of a candle, which he lit. Then he set to work swiftly. He drew out from his pack a bright blue woolen stocking, which he filled to the brim with little toys and nuts and raisins, for he thought the hungry little girl might like a few sweets. Then he hung the fat stocking right on the fireplace, weighted down with a heavy brass candlestick. He stood back a moment to survey his work and was just leaning over the candle to blow it out and make his difficult way back up the chimney, when he was startled by the sudden opening of a door, and a furious figure dashed into the room.
"Sneaking into my house, eh? After my gold, I suppose! I'll show you how I treat thieves; I'll show you!"
The old man picked up a heavy pair of iron fire-tongs and made a lunge at Nicholas, who rapidly sprang aside, so that the table was between him and the mad old miser.
"Don't be such a fool, man," he said quickly, realizing that the other was in such a rage he was dangerous. "I haven't come here after your gold. Look . . ."
"You haven't, eh? Then what brings you here, if it isn't some thieving purpose? Why do you break into an honest man's house in the dead of night if it isn't for the wealth I'm supposed to have?"
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus (Yesterday's Classics) Page 5