Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“‘You don’t look as if you were out of heart,’ said Mrs. Lucy. ‘You know who can send better times?’

“‘O yes, ma’am,’ said Sue. ‘He has already.’

“‘Trust him, dear; and let me know all you want.’

“Sue stood, sober and silent, while Mrs. Lucy went out at the door; and then she fell down on her knees before one of the chairs, and sunk her head on her hands; and was quite still for a minute or two, till the knocking sounded again. It was not a gentle tap on the floor, just to let Sue know she was wanted; it was an impatient, quarrelsome, vexatious, ‘rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!’ ’rat-tat!’ ’rat-tat!’ Sue ran up.

“The cobbler did not come home that night, and Roswald would stay in the house. Sue did all she could to hinder him; for indeed there was nothing for him to sleep on but the pile of leather scraps; but he would not be hindered.

“‘But your mother, Roswald?’ Sue gently urged.

“‘What of my mother?’

“‘She will want you.’

“‘How do you know that?’

“‘I should think she would,’ said Sue.

“‘Should you? Well, she thinks, and so do I, that you want me more.’

“‘How good you are, dear Roswald!’

“‘Not very, Sue,’ said Roswald, calmly.

“‘Do you know what Mrs. Lucy says?’ said Sue. ‘She says that you have your own way in everything.’

“‘Mrs. Lucy might have gone wider of the mark, I suppose,’ said Roswald, blowing up the fire.

“‘Mrs. Lucy is very good,’ said Sue. ‘She brought us some tea and sugar this afternoon.’

“‘Did she?’ said Roswald. ‘Then what will you do with what Mrs. Halifax sent?’

“‘Did she send us some?’ said Sue. ‘Oh, Roswald!’

“Roswald laughed at her; and Sue did not know what to do with herself; she went and fetched down a quantity of coverlids and things for Roswald to wrap himself in, and be warm during the night; and begged him to keep a good fire.

“The next day still the cobbler did not come home. It passed with no visiters except Roswald and Mrs. Lucy, who stepped in for a minute. Sue’s mother wanted her up-stairs pretty much the whole day; so there could be little fun going. Christmas-eve Roswald stayed in the house again. But he went off very early in the morning, without seeing Sue, after he had made the fire for her.

“The snow had not come so soon as Roswald thought it would. There was none on the ground Christmas-eve. But when Christmas-morning rose, the whole of Beachhead was softly and smoothly covered with white. It had fallen very fast and quietly during the night; the window-sills were piled up, the door-knob was six inches high, and the snow hung like thatch over the eaves of the houses. The streets were a soft, pure, printless spread of white.

“So they were early, when Roswald first went out. And whatever kept people’s feet within doors—whether the dark morning, for the snow still fell, or happy Christmas delays—there was yet hardly a foot-print but his to be seen in that part of the street when, some hours later, a sled drawn by a horse and carrying two men and a barrel, drew up before Mr. Peg’s door. Sue had heard the tinkle of the three bells which the horse bore on his neck; and, as it told of the first sleighing that year, she went to the window to see. There was the sled and one man and the barrel; the other man had jumped off, and was knocking at the front door.

“‘Very queer!’ thought Sue;—‘what can they want here?’—but she ran down-stairs and opened the door. The barrel was rolling up over the snow to the house, and the two men were behind pushing it. The cold air, and the yet falling snow, and the white street, the men, and the barrel rolling up towards Sue! Sue was bewildered. But that barrel must go somewhere, and she held the door open.

“‘What is it?’ said Sue. ‘It doesn’t belong here, does it?’

“‘There’s ‘Mr. Peg’ on it,’ said one of the men; ‘and this is Mr. Peg’s house, ain’t it?’

“‘What is it?’ said Sue, in astonishment, as the barrel now stood up on end at the end of her chest-table.

“‘It’s a barrel of flour, I guess,’ said the man. ‘Looks like it; and it come from Mr. Hoonuman’s.’

“‘Flour!’ said Sue.

“But the men with their heavy snow shoes clumped out again, and shut the door behind them with a bang. Sue stood and looked.

“There was the barrel, full-sized, standing on end, one side of it still lightly coated with snow; and there were the snow-marks on the floor of the feet that had been there. It wasn’t a dream. It was a real barrel, and even the snow wasn’t in a hurry to melt away.

“Suddenly it flashed into Sue’s little mind that it might be a Christmas!—and then whoever sent it ought to have been there, when the unwonted rosy colour sprang to her cheeks and made her for a minute look like a well-to-do child. And whoever sent it ought to have seen, a minute after, the bended head, and heard the thanksgiving that was not spoken, and the prayer, earnest and deep, for a blessing on the friend that had sent it.

“Sue had lifted her head, but had not moved from a foothold, when Roswald opened the door.

“‘O Roswald! do you see this?’

“‘Merry Christmas, Sue!’ said Roswald, gaily.

“‘O Roswald, do you know what this is?”

“‘It is very like a barrel of flour,’ said Roswald. ‘I should be surprised if it was anything else!’

“‘But, Roswald, who sent it?’

“‘Why, Sue!—Santa Claus, to be sure. Don’t you know what day it is?’

“‘It didn’t come down chimney,’ said Sue; ‘that I know. Dear Roswald, don’t you know who sent it?’

“‘If Santa Clans had taken me into his confidence, you know, Sue, it would not be an honest thing to betray. I wonder what you can do with a barrel of flour, now you have got it.’

“‘Do?’ said Sue;—but just then there was another knock at the door. Roswald opened it. In came a boy with a long string of fine black and blue fish, which Mrs. Binch had sent to Sue.

“‘Beachhead is waking up,’ said Roswald.

“‘O Roswald!’ said Sue, beginning to get into the spirit of the thing,—‘did you ever see anything like those fish? O tell Mrs. Binch I thank her a great many times, please,—a great many times; I am very much obliged to her, and so is father.—O Roswald!—do see!—’

“‘There’s your mother knocking, Sue,’ said Roswald. ‘Run off, and I’ll take care of these fish. You get ready for breakfast.’

“Sue went off in one direction, and Roswald in another. He was the first to come back, with a beautifully cleaned fish, which he soon had upon the coals. He went on to set the table, and get the bread and the tea; and by that time Sue came, as happy and as humble as possible, to enjoy her breakfast. Whether or not Roswald had had another breakfast before, he at any rate kept her company in hers, both talking and eating. The fish was declared to be the finest that could come out of the sea, and Roswald was probably adjudged to be the best cook on land; if he had been, his work could not have given better satisfaction.

“Roswald had to go away after breakfast, and told Sue his mother would want him at dinner, and he could not be there again before evening; but then he would come. Sue was satisfied with everything.

“Her day was spent for the most part up stairs. But there were some breaks to it. A servant came in the course of the morning, bringing some bottles of wine for her mother, from Mrs. Halifax. Sue was already in a state of happiness that could hardly be heightened, and was in fact endeavouring to bear it with the help of her Bible, for it was in her hand whenever she came down stairs. But her eyes sparkled afresh at this gift, because it came from Mrs. Halifax, and because it was what her mother wanted. Sue could not wait. She begged the man to open one of the bottles for her; which with no little difficulty was done, without a corkscrew; and then, when he had gone, Sue poured out a little into a teacup, and went up stairs with such a face—joy and love were dancing a waltz in it.

“A little before noon there came another knock at the door. A modest knock this was, so gentle that Sue probably did not hear it. The knocker had not patience, or was not scrupulous; he opened the door halfway, and pushed in a square wooden box, nailed up and directed; after which he went away again, leaving it to tell its own tale.

“It seemed to tell nothing that Sue could understand. She looked at it, when next she came down, with all her eyes, and on all sides; but it was fast nailed up; she could not by any means open it, and she could not tell what was inside. She easily guessed that it was another ‘Christmas;’ but in what form? She sat and looked at it, with a face of infinite delight. She walked round it. Nothing was to be made of it but a pine-box, tolerably heavy, with her own name and her father’s in large black letters on the upper side. Those letters did look lovely. Sue read them a great many times that day, and sat and gazed at the wooden box; but she could do nothing with it till Roswald came. He came at last, towards the edge of the evening. Sue was watching for him.

“‘O Roswald, there you are!—here’s another!’