The Big Book of Christmas

by Anton Chekhov

  * * *

  " 'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it you want, then?'

  * * *

  " 'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.'

  * * *

  " 'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'

  * * *

  "Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird, rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There was not a bird to be seen there.

  * * *

  " 'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.

  * * *

  " 'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'

  * * *

  " 'Which dealer's?'

  * * *

  " 'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'

  * * *

  " 'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same as the one I chose?'

  * * *

  " 'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart.'

  * * *

  "Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now -- and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

  * * *

  There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes's finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.

  * * *

  "Get out!" said he.

  * * *

  "What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"

  * * *

  "No more words. Get out!"

  * * *

  And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street.

  * * *

  "After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief feature."

  Santa Claus in the Bush

  Banjo Paterson

  Santa Claus in the Bush

  It chanced out back at the Christmas time,

  When the wheat was ripe and tall,

  A stranger rode to the farmer's gate --

  A sturdy man and a small.

  * * *

  "Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack,

  And bid the stranger stay;

  And we'll hae a crack for Auld Lang Syne,

  For the morn is Christmas Day."

  * * *

  "Nay noo, nay noo," said the dour guidwife,

  "But ye should let him be;

  He's maybe only a drover chap

  Frae the land o' the Darling Pea.

  * * *

  "Wi' a drover's tales, and a drover's thirst

  To swiggle the hail nicht through;

  Or he's maybe a life assurance carle

  To talk ye black and blue,"

  * * *

  "Guidwife, he's never a drover chap,

  For their swags are neat and thin;

  And he's never a life assurance carle,

  Wi' the brick-dust burnt in his skin.

  * * *

  "Guidwife, guidwife, be nae sae dour,

  For the wheat stands ripe and tall,

  And we shore a seven-pound fleece this year,

  Ewes and weaners and all.

  * * *

  "There is grass tae spare, and the stock are fat.

  Where they whiles are gaunt and thin,

  And we owe a tithe to the travelling poor,

  So we maun ask him in.

  * * *

  "Ye can set him a chair tae the table side,

  And gi' him a bite tae eat;

  An omelette made of a new-laid egg,

  Or a tasty bit of meat."

  * * *

  "But the native cats have taen the fowls,

  They havena left a leg;

  And he'll get nae omelette at a'

  Till the emu lays an egg!"

  * * *

  "Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack,

  To whaur the emus bide,

  Ye shall find the auld hen on the nest,

  While the auld cock sits beside.

  * * *

  "But speak them fair, and speak them saft,

  Lest they kick ye a fearsome jolt.

  Ye can gi' them a feed of thae half-inch nails

  Or a rusty carriage bolt."

  * * *

  So little son Jack ran blithely down

  With the rusty nails in hand,

  Till he came where the emus fluffed and scratched

  By their nest in the open sand.

  * * *

  And there he has gathered the new-laid egg --

  'Twould feed three men or four --

  And the emus came for the half-inch nails

  Right up to the settler's door.

  * * *

  "A waste o' food," said the dour guidwife,

  As she took the egg, with a frown,

  "But he gets nae meat, unless ye rin

  A paddy-melon down."

  * * *

  "Gang oot, gang oot, my little son Jack,

  Wi' your twa-three doggies sma';

  Gin ye come nae back wi' a paddy-melon,

  Then come nae back at a'."

  * * *

  So little son Jack he raced and he ran,

  And he was bare o' the feet,

  And soon he captured a paddy-melon,

  Was gorged with the stolen wheat.

  * * *

  "Sit doon, sit doon, my bonny wee man,

  To the best that the hoose can do --

  An omelette made of the emu egg

  And a paddy-melon stew."

  * * *

  "'Tis well, 'tis well," said the bonny wee man;

  "I have eaten the wide world's meat,

  And the food that is given with right good-will

  Is the sweetest food to eat.

  * * *

  "But the night draws on to the Christmas Day

  And I must rise and go,

  For I have a mighty way to ride

  To the land of the Esquimaux.

  * * *

  "And it's there I must load my sledges up,

  With the reindeers four-in-hand,

  That go to the North, South, East, and West,

  To every Christian land."

  * * *

  "Tae the Esquimaux," said the dour guidwife,

  "Ye suit my husband well!"

  For when he gets up on his journey horse

  He's a bit of a liar himsel'."

  * * *

  Then out with a laugh went the bonny wee man

  To his old horse grazing nigh,

  And away like a meteor flash they went

  Far off to the Northern sky.

  When the children
woke on the Christmas morn

  They chattered with might and main --

  For a sword and gun had little son Jack,

  And a braw new doll had Jane,

  And a packet o' screws had the twa emus;

  But the dour guidwife gat nane.

  Santa Claus

  Banjo Paterson

  Santa Claus

  "Halt! Who goes there?" the sentry's call

  Rose on the midnight air

  Above the noises of the camp,

  The roll of wheels, the horses' tramp.

  The challenge echoed over all --

  "Halt! Who goes there?"

  * * *

  A quaint old figure clothed in white,

  He bore a staff of pine,

  And ivy-wreath was on his head.

  "Advance, O friend," the sentry said,

  "Advance, for this is Christmas Night,

  And give the countersign."

  * * *

  "No sign or countersign have I.

  Through many lands I roam

  The whole world over far and wide.

  To exiles all at Christmastide

  From those who love them tenderly

  I bring a thought of home.

  * * *

  "From English brook and Scottisn burn,

  From cold Canadian snows,

  From those far lands ye hold most dear

  I bring you all a greeting here,

  A frond of a New Zealand fern,

  A bloom of English rose.

  * * *

  "From faithful wife and loving lass

  I bring a wish divine,

  For Christmas blessings on your head."

  "I wish you well," the sentry said,

  "But here, alas! you may not pass

  Without the countersign."

  * * *

  He vanished -- and the sentry's tramp

  Re-echoed down the line.

  It was not till the morning light

  The soldiers knew that in the night

  Old Santa Claus had come to camp

  Without the countersign.

  The Tailor of Gloucester

  Beatrix Potter

  "I'll be at charges for a looking-glass; And entertain a score or two of tailors."

  Richard III

  The Tailor of Gloucester

  IN the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets—when gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta—there lived a tailor in Gloucester.

  * * *

  He sat in the window of a little shop in Westgate Street, cross-legged on a table from morning till dark.

  * * *

  All day long while the light lasted he sewed and snippetted, piecing out his satin, and pompadour, and lutestring; stuffs had strange names, and were very expensive in the days of the Tailor of Gloucester.

  * * *

  But although he sewed fine silk for his neighbours, he himself was very, very poor—a little old man in spectacles, with a pinched face, old crooked fingers, and a suit of threadbare clothes.

  * * *

  He cut his coats without waste; according to his embroidered cloth, they were very small ends and snippets that lay about upon the table—"Too narrow breadths for nought—except waistcoats for mice," said the tailor.

  * * *

  One bitter cold day near Christmas-time the tailor began to make a coat (a coat of cherry-coloured corded silk embroidered with pansies and roses) and a cream-coloured satin waistcoat (trimmed with gauze and green worsted chenille) for the Mayor of Gloucester.

  * * *

  The tailor worked and worked, and he talked to himself. He measured the silk, and turned it round and round, and trimmed it into shape with his shears; the table was all littered with cherry-coloured snippets.

  * * *

  "No breadth at all, and cut on the cross; it is no breadth at all; tippets for mice and ribbons for mobs! for mice!" said the Tailor of Gloucester.

  * * *

  When the snow-flakes came down against the small leaded window-panes and shut out the light, the tailor had done his day's work; all the silk and satin lay cut out upon the table.

  * * *

  There were twelve pieces for the coat and four pieces for the waistcoat; and there were pocket-flaps and cuffs and buttons, all in order. For the lining of the coat there was fine yellow taffeta, and for the buttonholes of the waistcoat there was cherry-coloured twist. And everything was ready to sew together in the morning, all measured and sufficient—except that there was wanting just one single skein of cherry-coloured twisted silk.

  * * *

  The tailor came out of his shop at dark, for he did not sleep there at nights; he fastened the window and locked the door, and took away the key. No one lived there at nights but little brown mice, and they ran in and out without any keys!

  * * *

  For behind the wooden wainscots of all the old houses in Gloucester, there are little mouse staircases and secret trap-doors; and the mice run from house to house through those long, narrow passages; they can run all over the town without going into the streets.

  * * *

  But the tailor came out of his shop and shuffled home through the snow; he lived quite near by in College Court, next the doorway to College Green. And although it was not a big house, the tailor was so poor he only rented the kitchen.

  * * *

  He lived alone with his cat; it was called Simpkin.

  * * *

  Now all day long while the tailor was out at work, Simpkin kept house by himself; and he also was fond of the mice, though he gave them no satin for coats!

  * * *

  "Miaw?" said the cat when the tailor opened the door, "miaw?"

  * * *

  The tailor replied: "Simpkin, we shall make our fortune, but I am worn to a ravelling. Take this groat (which is our last fourpence), and, Simpkin, take a china pipkin, buy a penn'orth of bread, a penn'orth of milk, and a penn'orth of sausages. And oh, Simpkin, with the last penny of our fourpence buy me one penn'orth of cherry-coloured silk. But do not lose the last penny of the fourpence, Simpkin, or I am undone and worn to a thread-paper, for I have no more twist."

  * * *

  Then Simpkin again said "Miaw!" and took the groat and the pipkin, and went out into the dark.

  * * *

  The tailor was very tired and beginning to be ill. He sat down by the hearth and talked to himself about that wonderful coat.

  * * *

  "I shall make my fortune—to be cut bias—the Mayor of Gloucester is to be married on Christmas Day in the morning, and he hath ordered a coat and an embroidered waistcoat—to be lined with yellow taffeta—and the taffeta sufficeth; there is no more left over in snippets than will serve to make tippets for mice——"

  * * *

  Then the tailor started; for suddenly, interrupting him, from the dresser at the other side of the kitchen came a number of little noises—

  * * *

  Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!

  * * *

  "Now what can that be?" said the Tailor of Gloucester, jumping up from his chair. The dresser was covered with crockery and pipkins, willow pattern plates, and tea-cups and mugs.

  * * *

  The tailor crossed the kitchen, and stood quite still beside the dresser, listening, and peering through his spectacles. Again from under a teacup came those funny little noises—

  * * *

  Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!

  * * *

  "This is very peculiar," said the Tailor of Gloucester, and he lifted up the tea-cup which was upside down.

  * * *

  Out stepped a little live lady mouse, and made a courtesy to the tailor! Then she hopped away down off the dresser, and under the wainscot.

  * * *

  The tailor sat down again by the fire, warming his poor cold hands, and mumbling to himself:—

  * * *

  "The waistcoat is cut out from p
each-coloured satin—tambour stitch and rose-buds in beautiful floss silk! Was I wise to entrust my last fourpence to Simpkin? One-and-twenty buttonholes of cherry-coloured twist!"

  * * *

  But all at once, from the dresser, there came other little noises—