Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“‘Ah, Sue,’ said her father,—‘I don’t know;—I’ve lived a good piece of my life in one of those in-shore places, and I didn’t want to hear the sea roar then-a-days, and I could get along without the smell of salt water. No,—you don’t know what you are talking about exactly; every sort of place that the Lord has made has its own prettiness and pleasantness; and so the sea has; but I love the green pasture-fields as well as I do the green field of water, to this day.’

“‘But one might be in a place where there wasn’t the sea nor the pasture-fields either, father.’

“‘So one might,’ said the cobbler. ‘Yes, there are plenty such places. The sea is a blessing. I was thinking of my old home in Connecticut; but the world isn’t all green hills and sea-shore,—there’s something else in it—something else. Yes, dear, I love those big waves, too.’

“‘And then, father,’ said Sue, laying her hand on his breast, ‘we come back to the best things,—that you were beginning with.’

“‘Ay,’ said the cobbler, clasping his arm round her; and for a little space they sat silent and looked into the fire,—and then he went on.

“‘Poor as we sit here, and weak and dying as we know we are, we know that we have a tabernacle on high,—a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. It won’t matter much, Sue, when we get there—’

“What would not matter the cobbler did not say; there was something came in his throat that stopped him.

“‘It won’t matter, father,’ said Sue, softly.

“They sat still a good little while; the flame of the bits of brands in the chimney leaped up and down, burned strong and then fell outright; and the red coals glowed and glimmered in the place of it, but with less and less power.

“‘Now, Sue, let’s read,’ said the cobbler on a sudden.

“She got up, and he put on the coals two or three pieces of light stuff, which soon blazed up. While he was doing this, Sue brought the Bible. Then she took her former place in her father’s arms; and he opened the book and read by the firelight, pausing at almost every sentence,—

“‘‘Praise ye the Lord’—We will do that, Sue,’ said the cobbler,—‘for ever.’

“‘‘Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord that delighteth greatly in his commandments.’’

“‘You do that, father,’ said Sue, softly.

“‘I do fear him; I do delight in his commandments,’ said the poor cobbler. ‘I might a great deal more. But see how it goes on.’

“‘‘His seed shall be mighty upon earth; the generation of the upright shall be blessed.’ No doubt of it: only let us see that we are upright, my child.’

“‘‘Wealth and riches shall be in his house.’ So they are, Sue; aren’t we rich?’

“‘Yes father. But don’t you think that means the other kind of riches, too?’

“‘I don’t know,’ said the cobbler; ‘if it does, we shall have them. But I don’t know, daughter; see,—

“‘‘Wealth and riches shall be in his house; and his righteousness endureth for ever.’ It seems as if that riches had to do with that righteousness. You know what Jesus says,—‘I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire, that thou mayest be rich.’ I guess it is the kind of riches of that man who is described ‘as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.’’

“‘Well, so we do, father: don’t we?’

“‘Let us praise him,’ said the cobbler.

“‘Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness.’ What a promise!’

“‘Unto the upright, again,’ said Sue.

“‘Mind it, dear Sue,’ said her father; ‘for we may see darker times than we have seen yet.’

“Sue looked up at him gravely, but did not speak.

“‘‘Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness: he is gracious, and full of compassion, and righteous.’’

“‘That is, the upright man,’ said Sue.

“‘‘A good man showeth favour and lendeth: he will guide his affairs with discretion. Surely he shall not be moved for ever: the righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.’ You remember who says, ‘I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.’’

“‘That is Zion, father, isn’t it?’ said Sue.

“‘And just before that,—‘Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.’’

“‘We oughtn’t to be afraid, father,’ said Sue, softly.

“‘I am not afraid,’ said the cobbler.

“‘‘The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance. He shall not be afraid of evil tidings; his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord.’—There it is, Sue.’

“‘‘His heart is established; he shall not be afraid, until he see his desire upon his enemies. He hath dispersed, he hath given to the poor; his righteousness endureth for ever; his horn shall be exalted with honour. The wicked shall see it, and be grieved; he shall gnash with his teeth and melt away; the desire of the wicked shall perish.’’

“The cobbler closed the book; and he and his little daughter knelt down, and he prayed for a few minutes; then they covered up the fire, and they went away up-stairs together. And the night was as quiet in that house as in any house in the land.

“The next morning the cobbler and his daughter broiled another fish; but the breakfast was a shorter and less talkative affair than the supper had been. After breakfast the cobbler sat down to his work; but before the shoe was half an hour nearer to being done, Sue appeared at the bottom of the stairs with,—

“‘Father, mother says she wants a piece of one of those fish.’

“The cobbler’s needle stood still.

“‘I don’t believe it is good for her,’ said he.

“‘She says she wants it.’

“‘Well, can’t you put it down, my daughter?’

“‘Yes, father; but she says she wants me to put her room up, and she’s in a great hurry for the fish.’

“Mr. Peg slowly laid his work down. Sue ran up-stairs again, and the cobbler spent another half-hour over the coals and a quarter of a blue fish. Sue came for it, and the cobbler returned to his work again.

“It was a pretty cold day; the wind whistled about and brought the cold in; and every now and then Sue came down and stood at the fire a minute to warm herself. Every time the cobbler stayed his hand and looked up, and looked wistfully at her.

“‘Never mind, father,’ said Sue. ‘It’s only that I am a little cold.’

“‘You’re blue,’ said he.

“And at last Mr. Peg couldn’t stand it. Down went the leather one side of him, and the tools the other; and he went and lugged an armful or two of sticks up-stairs, and built a fire there, in spite of Sue’s begging him to keep on with his work and not mind her.

“‘But we sha’n’t have wood enough, father,’ she said at last gently.

“‘I’ll go o’nights to the beach, and fetch a double quantity,’ said the cobbler;—‘till your mother is able to come down-stairs. That I can do. I can’t bear the other thing, if you can.’