_Santa Claus._
A STORY FOR THE NURSERY.
Although Bob was asleep on the doorstep the children in the passagetalked so loudly that they woke him up. They did not mean to do it,for they were nice, clean, handsome children. Bob was always prettydirty, so nobody knew if he was pretty clean. He was not a dog, thoughyou might think so from his name and the way he was treated. Nobodycared for Bob except Tommy whom he could fight one-hand. The luckynice clean children had jam to lick, but Bob had only Tommy. PoorTommy!
Bob sat up on his stony doorstep, drawing his rags around him. Histoes were freezing. When you have no boots it is awkward to stamp yourfeet. That is why they are so cold. Bob's idea of heaven was a placewith a fire in it. He lived before Free Education and his ideas weremixed.
Bob heard the children inside talking about Santa Claus and thepresents they expected. Bob gathered that he was a kind-hearted oldgentleman, and he thought to himself: "If I could find out SantaClaus's address, I'd go and arx 'im for some presents too." So hewaited outside, shivering, till a pretty little girl and boy came out,when he said to them: "Please, can you tell me where Santa Clauslives?"
The little girl and boy drew back when he spoke to them, because theyhad strict orders to keep their pinafores clean. But when they heardhis strange question, they looked at each other with large eyes. Thentheir pretty faces filled with smiling sunshine, and they said: "Helives in the sky. He is a spirit."
Bob's face fell. "Oh, then I carn't call upon 'im," he said. "But 'owis it _I_ never gets no presents like I 'ears yer say _you_ does?"
"Perhaps you are not a good child," said the little girl gravely.
"Yes, look how you've torn your clothes," said the little boyreprovingly.
"Well, but 'ow is _you_ goin' to get presents from the sky?"
"We hang up our stockings to-night, just before Christmas, and in thenight Santa Claus fills them," they explained, and just then the maidcame out and led them away.
Now Bob understood. He had never had any stockings in his life. Hefelt mad to think how much else he had missed through the want of apair. If he could only get a pair of stockings to hang up, he might bea rich boy and dine off bread and treacle. He wandered through thecourts and alleys looking for stockings in the gutters and dustbins.They were not there. Old boots were to be found in abundance thoughnot in couples (which was odd); but Bob soon discovered that peoplenever throw away their stockings. At last he plucked up courage andbegged from house to house, but nobody had a pair to spare. Whatbecomes of all the old stockings? Not everybody hoards treasure inthem. Bob met plenty of kind hearts; they offered him bread when heasked for a stocking.
At last, weary and footsore, he returned to his doorstep and pondered.He wondered if he could cheat Santa Claus by making a pair out of apiece of newspaper he had picked up. But perhaps Mr. Claus wasparticular about the material and admitted nothing under cotton. Hethought of stepping deeply into the mud and caking a pair, but then hecould only remove them at night by brushing them off in little pieces;he feared they would stick too tight to come off whole. He alsothought of painting his calves with stripes from "wet paint," on theoff chance that Mr. Claus would drop the presents carelessly downalong his legs. But he concluded that if Mr. Claus lived in the sky hecould look down and see all he was doing. So he began to cry instead.
"What are you crying about?" said a quavering voice, and Bob,startled, became aware of a wretched old creature dining on thedoorstep at his side.
AN OLD WOMAN DINING ON THE DOORSTEP.]
"I ain't got no stockings," he sobbed in answer.
"Well, I'll give you mine," said his neighbour.
Bob hesitated. The poor old woman looked so brokendown herself, itseemed mean to accept her offer.
"Won't you be cold?" he asked timidly.
"I shan't be warmer," mumbled the old woman. "But then you will."
"No, I won't have them, thank you kindly, mum," said Bob stoutly.
"Then I'll tell you what to do," said the old woman, who was really afairy, though she had lost both wings--they had been amputated in asurgical operation. "It's easy enough to get stockings if you onlyknow how. Run away now and pick out any person you meet and say, 'Iwish that person's stockings were on my feet.' You can only wish once,so be careful, especially, not to wish for a pair of blue stockings,as they won't suit you."
She grinned and vanished. Bob jumped up and was about to wish offthe stockings of the first man he met, when a horrible thought struckhim. The man had nice clothes and looked rich, but what proof wasthere he had stockings on? Bob really could not afford to risk wastinghis wish. He walked about and looked at all the people--the men withtheir long trousers, the women with their trailing skirts; and themore he walked, the more grew his doubt and his agony. A terriblescepticism of humanity seized him. They looked very prim and demurewithout, these men and women, with their varnished boots and theirsatin gowns, but what if they were all hypocrites, walking aboutwithout stockings! Night came on. Half distracted by distrust of hiskind, he wandered on to the docks, and there to his joy he saw peoplecoming off a steamer by a narrow plank. As they walked the ladieslifted up their skirts so as not to tumble over them, and he caughtseveral glimpses of dainty stockings. At last he selected a lady withvery broad stockings, that looked as if they would hold lots of Mr.Claus's presents, and wished. Instantly he felt very funny about thefeet, and the lady wobbled about so in her big boots that sheoverbalanced herself and fell into the water and was drowned.
Bob ran back to his doorstep, and when it was dark slipped off hisstockings carefully and hung them up on the knocker. And--sureenough!--in the morning they were fall of fine cigars and Spanishlace. Bob sold the lace for a penny, but he kept the cigars and smokedthe first with his penn'uth of Christmas plum-duff.
_Moral_:--England expects every man to pay his duty.
The King of Schnorrers: Grotesques and Fantasies Page 10