Just Sixteen.

by Susan Coolidge

  THE PINK SWEETMEAT.

  Only three pairs of stockings were left in the shop. It was a verylittle shop indeed, scarcely larger than a stall. Job Tuke, to whom itbelonged, was not rich enough to indulge in the buying of anysuperfluous wares. Every spring he laid in a dozen dozen of thinstockings, a bale of cheap handkerchiefs, a gross of black buttons, agross of white, a little stationery, and a few other small commodities.In the autumn he added a dozen dozen of thick stockings, and a box fullof mittens and knitted comforters. Besides these he sold penny papers,and home-made yeast made by Mrs. Tuke. If the stock of wearables grewscant toward midwinter, Job rejoiced in his heart, but by no means madehaste to replenish it. He just laid aside the money needed for thespring outfit, and lived on what remained. Thus it went year after year.Trade was sometimes a little better, sometimes a little worse, butwhichever way it was, Job grew no richer. He and his old wife livedalong somehow without coming on the parish for support, and with thisvery moderate amount of prosperity they were content.

  This year of which I write, the supply of winter stockings had given outearlier than usual. The weather had been uncommonly cold since October,which may have been the reason. Certain it is, that here at Michaelmas,with December not yet come in, only three pairs of stockings were leftin the little shop. Job Tuke had told his wife only the week before thathe almost thought he should be forced to lay in a few dozen more, folksseemed so eager to get 'em. But since he said that, no one had asked forstockings, as it happened, and Job, thinking that trade was, after all,pretty well over for the season, had given up the idea of replenishinghis stock.

  One of the three pairs of stockings was a big pair of dark mixed gray.One pair, a little smaller, was white, and the third, smaller still anddark blue in color, was about the size for a child of seven or eightyears old.

  Job Tuke had put up the shutters for the night and had gone to bed. Thestockings were talking together in the quiet darkness, as stockings willwhen left alone. One pair had been hung in the window. It had got downfrom its nail, and was now straddling carelessly with one leg on eitherside of the edge of the box in which the others lay, as a boy might onthe top of a stile. This was the big gray pair.

  "Our chances seem to be getting slim," he said gloomily.

  "That is more than you seem," replied the White Stockings, in a tartvoice. "Your ankles are as thick as ever, and your mesh looks to mecoarser than usual to-night."

  "There are worse things in the world than thickness," retorted the GrayStockings angrily. "I'm useful, at any rate, I am, while you have nowear in you. I should say that you would come to darning about thesecond wash, if not sooner."

  "Is that my fault?" said the White Pair, beginning to cry.

  "No; it's your misfortune. But people as unfortunate as you are shouldmind their P's and Q's, and not say disagreeable things to those whoare better off."

  "Pray don't quarrel," put in the Little Blues, who were alwayspeacemakers. "Think of our situation, the last survivors of twelvedozen! we ought to be friends. But, as you say, matters _are_ gettingserious with us. Of course we are all thinking about the same thing."

  "Yes; about the Christmas, and the chimney corner," sighed the WhitePair. "What a dreadful thing it would be if we went to the rag-bag neverhaving held a Christmas gift. I could not get over such a disgrace. Myfather, my grandfather--all my relations had their chance--some of themwere even hung a second time!"

  "Yes; Christmas is woven into our very substance," said the GrayStockings. "The old skeins and the ravellings tell the story to the newwool,--the story of the Christmas time. The very sheep in the fieldsknow it. For my part," he added proudly, "I should blush to lie in thesame ash-heap even with an odd stocking who had died under the disgraceof never being hung up for Christmas, and I will never believe that mylife-long dream is to be disappointed!"

  "Why will you use such inflated language?" snapped the White Pair. "Youwere only woven last July. As late as May you were running round themeadow on a sheep's back."

  "Very well; I don't dispute it. I may not be as old as Methuselah, butlong or short, my life is my life, and my dream is my dream, and youhave no call to criticise my expressions, Miss!" thundered the Big Pair.

  "There you are again," said the Little Blues. "I _do_ wish you wouldn'tdispute. Now let us talk about our chances. What day of the month isit?"

  "The twenty-seventh of November," said the Gray Stockings, who, becausethey hung over the penny papers in the window, always knew the exactdate.

  "Little more than four weeks to the holidays," said the White Pairdolorously. "How I wish some one would come along and put us out ofsuspense."

  "Being bought mightn't do that," suggested the Little Blues. "You mightbe taken by a person who had two pairs of stockings, and the othersmight be chosen to be hung up. Such things do happen."

  "Oh, they wouldn't happen to me, I think," said the White Pairvaingloriously.

  As it happened, the three pairs of stockings were all sold the very dayafter this conversation, and all to one and the same person. This wasMrs. Wendte, an Englishwoman married to a Dutch shipwright. She hadlived in Holland for some years after her marriage, but now she and herhusband lived in London. They had three children.

  The stockings were very much pleased to be bought. When Job Tuke rolledthem up in paper and tied a stout packthread round them, they nestledclose, and squeezed each other with satisfaction. Besides, the joy ofbeing sold was the joy of keeping together and knowing about eachother's adventures.

  The first of these adventures was not very exciting. It consisted inbeing laid away in the back part of a bureau-drawer, and carefullylocked in.

  "Now, what is this for?" questioned the White Stockings. "Are we to stayhere always?"

  "Yes; that is just what I should like to know," grumbled the Big Grays.

  "Why, of course not! Who ever heard of stockings being put away foralways?" said the wise Little Blues. "Wait patiently and we shall see. Ithink it is some sort of a surprise."

  But day after day passed and nothing happened, surprising or otherwise,till even the philosophical Little Blue Stockings began to lose heartand hope. At last, one evening they heard the key click in the lock ofthe drawer, a stream of light flashed into their darkness, and they wereseized and drawn forth.

  "Well, mother, let us see thy purchase. Truly fine hosen they are," saidJacob Wendte, whose English was rather foreign.

  "Yes," replied his wife. "Good, handsome stockings they are, and thechildren will be glad, for their old ones are about worn out. The bigpair is for Wilhelm, as thou knowest. Those must hang to the right ofthe stove."

  The Big Gray Pair cast a triumphant glance at his companions as he foundhimself suspended on a stout nail. This _was_ something like life!

  "The white are for Greta, and these small ones for little Jan. Ah, theyare nice gifts indeed!" said Mrs. Wendte, rubbing her hands. "A fineChristmas they will be for the children."

  The stockings glowed with pleasure. Not only were they hung up tocontain presents, but they themselves were Christmas gifts! This waspromotion indeed.

  "Hast thou naught else?" demanded Jacob Wendte of his wife.

  "No great things; a kerchief for Greta, this comforter for Wilhelm, forthe little one, mittens. That is all."

  But it was not quite all, for after her husband had gone to bed, Mrs.Wendte, a tender look on her motherly face, sought out a small,screwed-up paper, and with the air of one who is a little ashamed ofwhat she is doing, dropped into each stocking a something made of sugar.They were not sugar almonds, they were not Salem Gibraltars,--whichdelightful confections are unfamiliar to London shops,--but irregularlumps of a nondescript character, which were crumbly and sweet, andwould be sure to please those who did not often get a taste of candy. Itwas of little Jan that his mother had thought when she bought thesweetmeats, and for his sake she had yielded to the temptation, thoughshe looked upon it as an extravagance. There were three of thesweetmeats--two white, one pink--and the pink one
went into Jan'sstockings. Mrs. Wendte had not said anything about them to her husband.

  "Well, this is satisfactory," said the Gray Pair, when Mrs. Wendte hadleft the room, and he was sure of not being overheard. "Here we are allhanging together on Christmas Eve. My dream is accomplished."

  "Mine isn't," said the White Pair plaintively. "I always hoped that Ishould hold something valuable, like a watch or a pair of earrings. Itis rather a come-down to have nothing but a bit of candy inside, and apocket handkerchief pinned to my leg. I don't half like it. It gives mean uncomfortable pricking sensation, like a stitch in the side."

  "It's just as well for you to get used to it," put in the Gray. "Itdoesn't prick as much as a darning-needle, I fancy, and you'll have toget accustomed to that before long, as I've remarked before."

  "I'm the only one who has a pink sweetmeat," said the Little Blues, whocouldn't help being pleased. "And I'm for a real child. Wilhelm andGreta are more than half grown up."

  "Real children are very hard on their stockings, I've always heard,"retorted the White Pair, who never could resist the temptation to say adisagreeable thing.

  "That may be, but it is all in the future. This one night is my own, andI mean to enjoy it," replied the contented Little Blues.

  So the night went, and now it was the dawn of Christmas. With the firstlight the door opened softly and a little boy crept into the room. Thiswas Jan. When he saw the three pairs of stockings hanging by the stove,he clapped his hands together, but softly, lest the noise should wakethe others. Then he crossed the room on tiptoe and looked hard at thestockings. He soon made sure which pair was for himself, but he did nottake them down immediately, only stood with his hands behind his backand gazed at them with two large, pleased eyes.

  At last he put his hand up and gently touched the three, felt the littleblue pair, gave it a pat, and finally unhooked it from its nail. Then hesat down on the floor, and began to put them on. His toe encountering anobstacle, he pulled the stocking off again, put his hand in, andextracted the pink sweetmeat, with which he was so pleased that helaughed aloud. That woke up the others, who presently came in.

  "Ah, little rogue that thou art! Always the first to waken," said hismother, pleased at his pleasure.

  "See, mother! see what I found!" he cried. "It is good--sweet! I havetasted a crumb already. Take some of it, mother."

  But Mrs. Wendte shook her head.

  "No," she said. "I do not care for sugar. That is for little folks likethee. Eat it thyself, Jan."

  It was her saying this, perhaps, which prevented Wilhelm and Greta frommaking the same offer,--at least, I hope so. Certain it is that neitherof them made it. Greta ate hers up on the spot, with the frankgreediness of a girl of twelve who does not often get candy. Wilhelmbuttoned his up in his trousers pocket. All three made haste to put onthe new stockings. The three pairs had only time to hastily whisper asthey were separated,--

  "To-night perhaps we may meet again."

  The pink sweetmeat went into the pocket of Jan's jacket, and he carriedit about with him all the morning. He did not eat it, because once eatenit would be gone, and it was a greater pleasure to have it to lookforward to, than to enjoy it at the moment. Jan was a thrifty littleboy, as you perceive.

  Being Christmas, it was of course an idle day. Jacob Wendte never knewwhat to do with such. There was his pipe, and there was beer to be had,so in default of other occupation, he amused himself with these. Mrs.Wendte had her hands full with the dinner, and was frying sausages andmixing Yorkshire pudding all the morning. Only Greta went to church. Shebelonged to a parish-school where they gave Christmas prizes, and by nomeans intended to lose her chance; but, apart from that, she reallyloved church-going, for she spoke English and understood it better thaneither of the other children. Wilhelm went off on errands of his own.Little Jan spent the morning in admiring his stockings, and in wrappingand unwrapping his precious sweetmeat, and taking it out of his pocketand putting it in again.

  "Why dost thou not eat it, dear?" asked his mother, as she lifted thefrying-pan from the stove.

  But he answered: "Oh! not yet. When once it is eaten, it is over. I willwait."

  "How long wilt thou wait?" she asked.

  Jan said bashfully, "I don't know."

  In truth, he had not made up his mind about the sweetmeat, only he feltinstinctively that he did not want to hurry, and shorten his pleasure.

  Dinner over, he went out for a walk. Every now and then, as he marchedalong, his hand would steal into his pocket to finger his precious candyand make sure that it was safe.

  It was a gray afternoon, but not snowing or raining. Hyde Park was nottoo far away for a walk, and Jan went there. The Serpentine was skimmedover with ice just strong enough to bear boys, and quite a little crowdwas sliding or skating upon it. Jan could skate very well. He hadlearned in Holland, but he made no attempt to join the crowd. He wasrather shy of English boys, for they sometimes laughed at his Hollanderclothes or his Dutch accent, and he did not like to be laughed at.

  So he strolled away, past the Serpentine and the skaters, and watchedthe riders in the Row for a while. There were not a great many, forpeople who ride are apt to be out of London at the Christmas time; butthere were some pretty horses, and one fair little girl on a pony whotook Jan's fancy very much. He stood for a long time watching her trotup and down, and the idea occurred to him that he would like to give herhis sweetmeat. He even put his hand into his pocket and half pulled itout; but the little girl did not look his way, and presently her father,with whom she was riding, spoke to her, and she turned her horse's headand trotted off through the marble arch. Jan dropped the sugarplum againinto his pocket, and felt as if his sudden fancy had been absurd; andindeed I think the little girl would have been surprised and puzzledwhat to do had he carried out the intention.

  After the pony and his little mistress had departed, Jan lost hisinterest in the riders, and walked away across the park. Once he stoppedto look at a dear little dog with a blue collar, who seemed to have losthis master, for he was wandering about by himself, and smellingeverybody and everything he met, as if to recover a lost trail. Jancalled him. He came up in a very friendly way and allowed himself to bepatted; and once more the sweetmeat was in danger, for Jan had taken itout with the intention of dividing it with this new friend, when awhistle was heard which the little dog evidently recognized, and hedarted off at once to join his master. So again the pink sweetmeat wasput back into Jan's pocket, and he walked on.

  He had gone quite a distance when he saw a number of people collectedround the foot of a tree. A ladder was set against one of the lowerbranches, and a man had climbed up nearly to the top of the tree. Jan,like a true boy, lost no time in joining the crowd, but at first hecould not make out what was going on. The boughs were thick. All that hecould see was the man's back high up overhead, and what he was doing hecould not guess.

  A benevolent-looking old gentleman stood near, and Jan heard him exclaimwith great excitement:

  "There, he's got him! No, he's not; but it was a close shave!"

  "Got what, sir?" he ventured to ask.

  "Why, the rook, to be sure."

  Then, seeing that Jan still looked puzzled, he took the trouble toexplain.

  "You see that rook up there, my lad, don't you?" Jan had not seen anyrook at all! "Well it is caught in some way, how, I can't tell you, butit can't get away from the tree. It has been there three days, theysay, and all that time the other rooks have brought food to it, and keptit from starving. Now some one has gone up to see what is thedifficulty, and, if possible, to set the poor thing free."

  "Thank you, sir," said Jan.

  And the old gentleman looked at him kindly, and said to himself:--

  "A very civil, tidy little lad! I like his face."

  Jan had now become deeply interested in what was going on. He stood ontiptoe, and stretched his neck; but all he could see was the man's backand one of his feet, and now and then the movement of a stick with whicht
he man seemed to be trying to hit something. At last there was a greatplunge and a rustling of branches, and people began to hurrah. Janhurrahed too, though he still saw nothing very clearly; but it is easierto shout when other boys shout, if you happen to be a boy, than it is tokeep still.

  Slowly the man in the tree began to come down. He had only one hand tohelp himself with now, for the other held the heavy rook. We in Americado not know what rooks are like, but in England they are common enough.They are large black birds, something like our crows, but they lookwiser, and are a good deal bigger.

  As the man neared the ground, every one in the crowd could see what hadbeen the matter with the rook. A kite-string, caught among the treebranches, had tangled his legs and held him fast. He had pulled so hardin his efforts to escape that the string had cut into one of his legsand half broken it. It was stiff and bleeding, and the rook couldneither fly nor hop. People searched in their pockets, and one littlegirl, who had a half biscuit, began to feed the rook, who, for all thekindly efforts of his friends, seemed to be half-famished. The poorthing was too weak to struggle or be frightened, and took the crumbseagerly from the girl's hand.

  Jan thought of his sweetmeat, and took it out for the third time.Everybody was crowding round the man who held the rook, and he could notget near. A very tall policeman stood in front of him. Jan pulled hisarm, and when he turned, handed him the sweetmeat, and said in his softforeign English:--

  "For the bird, sir."

  "Thank you, my dear," said the policeman.

  He had not understood what Jan said, and in an abstracted way, with hiseyes still fixed on the rook, he bit the pink sweetmeat in two, andswallowed half of it at a mouthful. Fortunately Jan did not see this,for the policeman's back was turned to him; but observing that the manmade no attempt to go forward, he pulled his sleeve for the second time,and again said:--

  "For the bird, I said, sir."

  This time the policeman heard, and taking one step forward, he held theremaining half of the sweetmeat out to the rook, who, having by thistime grown used to being fed, took the offered dainty greedily. Jan sawthe last pink crumb vanish into the long beak, but he felt no regret.His heart had been touched by the suffering of the poor bird, and he wasglad to give what he could to make it forget those painful days in thetree.

  So that was the end of the pink sweetmeat, or not quite the end. Thekind old gentleman to whom Jan had spoken, had noticed the littletransaction with the policeman. He was shrewd as well as kind. Heguessed by Jan's clothes that he was a working-man's son, to whom sweetswere not an every-day affair, and the generous act pleased him. So heput his hand into _his_ pocket, pulled out a half-crown, and watchinghis opportunity, dropped it into Jan's pocket, quite empty now that thesweetmeat was gone. Then, with a little chuckle, he walked away, and Janhad no suspicion of what had been done to him.

  Gradually the crowd dispersed, Jan among the rest walking briskly, forhe wanted to get home and tell his mother the story. It was not tillafter supper that he discovered the half-crown, and then it seemed tohim like a sort of dream, as if fairies had been at work, and turned thepink sweetmeat into a bit of silver.

  That night the three pairs of stockings had another chance forconversation. The blue ones and the gray ones lay close together on thefloor of the room where Jan slept with his brother, and the white ones,which Greta had carelessly dropped as she jumped into bed, were nearenough the half-opened door to talk across the sill.

  "It has been an exciting day," said the White Pair. "My girl got aKeble's 'Christian Year' at her school. It was the second-best prize. Itis a good thing to belong to respectable people who take prizes. Onlyone thing was painful to me: she wriggled her toes so with pleasure thatI feel as if I were coming to an end in one of my points."

  "You probably are," remarked the Big Gray. "Yes, now that I examine, Ican see the place. One stitch has parted already, and there is quite athin spot. You know I always predicted that you would be in the rag-bagbefore you knew it."

  "Oh, don't say such dreadful things," pleaded the Little Blues. "Mrs.Wendte will mend her, I am sure, and make her last. What did your girldo with her sweetmeat?"

  "Ate it up directly, of course. What else should one do with asweetmeat?" snapped the White Pair crossly. "Oh, dear! my toe feelsdreadfully ever since you said that; quite neuralgic!"

  "My boy was not so foolish as to eat his sweetmeat," said the Big Graystockings. "Only girls act in that way, without regard to anything buttheir greedy appetites. He traded his with another boy, and he got apocket-knife for it, three screws, and a harmonica. There!"

  "Was the knife new?" asked the Blue.

  "Could the harmonica play any music?" demanded the White.

  "No; the harmonica is out of order inside somehow, but perhaps my boycan mend it. And the knife isn't new--quite old, in fact--and its bladeis broken at the end; still, it's a knife, and Wilhelm thinks he cantrade it off for something else. And now for your adventures. What did_your_ boy do with his sweetmeat, Little Blues? Did he eat it, or tradeit?"

  "It is eaten," replied the Blue Stockings cautiously.

  "Eaten! Then of course he ate it. Why don't you speak out? If he ate it,say so. If he didn't, who did?"

  "Well, nobody ate the whole of it, and my boy didn't eat any. It wasdivided between two persons--or rather, between one person and--and--athing that is not a person."

  "Bless me! What are you talking about? I never heard anything so absurdin my life. Persons, and things that are not persons," said the WhitePair; "what do you mean?"

  "Yes; what _do_ you mean? What is the use of beating about the bush inthis way?" remonstrated the Big Gray Pair. "Who did eat the sweetmeat?Say plainly."

  "Half of it was eaten by a policeman, and the other half by a rook,"replied the Little Blues, in a meek voice.

  "Ho, ho!" roared the Gray Stockings, while the White Pair joined in witha shrill giggle. "That beats all! Half by a policeman, and half by arook! A fine way to dispose of a Christmas sweetmeat! Your boy must be afool, Little Blues."

  "Not a fool at all," said the Blue Pair indignantly. "Now just listen tome. Your girl ate hers up at once, and forgot it. Your boy traded hisaway; and what has he got? A broken knife, and a harmonica that can'tplay music. I don't call those worth having. My boy enjoyed hissweetmeat all day. He had more pleasure in giving it away than if he hadeaten it ten times over! Besides, he got half a crown for it. An oldgentleman slipped it into his pocket because he was pleased with hiskind heart. I saw him do it."

  "Half a crown!" ejaculated the White Pair, with amazement.

  "That _is_ something like," admitted the Big Gray Stockings. "Your boydid the best of the three, I admit."

  The Little Blues said no more.

  Presently the others fell asleep, but she lay and watched Jan as herested peacefully beside his brother, with his wonderful treasure--thesilver coin--clasped tight in his hand. He smiled in his sleep as thoughhis dreams were pleasant.

  "Even if he had no half-crown, still he would have done the best," shewhispered to herself at last.

  Then the clock struck twelve, and the day after Christmas was begun.