Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“The small-clothes reached only to the knee—a little above or a little below—and so met the long stockings half way. Some people wore very fanciful stockings, of different colours and embroidered; but Squire Darlington’s were always of grey woollen yarn, very fine and soft as you see I am, and tied above the knee with black ribbons. And his shoes were always black, with; large black bows and silver buckles.

“He sat there alone in the wide hall, with one hand upon me and his eyes fixed upon the fire waiting for the arrival of the Yule Clog. For in those days, the night before Yule or Christmas the chief fire in the house was built with an immense log, which was cut and brought in with great rejoicing and ceremony, and lighted with a brand saved from the log of last year. All the servants in the house had gone out to help roll the log and swell the noise, and the fire of the day had burnt down to a mere bed of coals; and the hall was so still you could almost hear the ivy leaves rustle on the old wall outside. I don’t know but the Squire did.”

“What did he stay there for?” said Carl. “Was he thinking?”

“He might have been,” said the stocking,—“indeed I rather think he was, for he stroked and patted me two or three times. Or he might have been listening the wind sing its Christmas song.”

“Can the wind sing?” said Carl.

“Ay—and sigh too. Most of all about the time of other people’s holidays. It’s a wild, sighing kind of a song at best—whistled and sung and sighed together,—sometimes round the house, and sometimes through a keyhole. I heard what it said that night well enough. You won’t understand it, but this was it:—

‘Christmas again! Christmas again!
With its holly berries so bright and red.
They gleam in the wood, they grow by the lane,—
O hath not Christmas a joyful tread?

Christmas again! Christmas again!
What does it find? and what does it bring?
And what does it miss that should remain?—
O Christmas time is a wonderful thing!

Christmas again! Christmas again!
There are bright green leaves on the holly tree,—
But withered leaves fly over the plain,
And the forests are brown and bare to see.

Christmas again! Christmas again!
The snow lies light and the wind is cold.
But the wind it reacheth some hearts of pain,—
And the snow—it falleth on heads grown old.

Christmas again! Christmas again!
What kindling fires flash through the hall!
The flames may flash, but the shadows remain,—
And where do the shadows this night fall?

Christmas again! Christmas again!—
It looks through the windows—it treads the floor.
Seeking for what earth could not retain—
Watching for those who will come no more.

Christmas again! Christmas again!
Why doth not the pride of the house appear?
Where is the sound of her silken train?
And that empty chair—what doeth it here?

Christmas again! Christmas again!
With hearts as light as did ever bound;
And feet as pretty as ever were fain
To tread a measure the hall around.

Christmas again! Christmas again!—
Oh thoughts, be silent! who called for ye?
Must Christmas time be a time of pain
Because of the loved, from pain set free?

Christmas again! Christmas again!—
Once Christmas and joy came hand in hand.
The hall may its holiday look regain,—
But those empty chairs must empty stand.’

“The wind took much less time to sing the song than I have taken to tell it,” said the stocking,—“a low sigh round the house and a whistle or two, told all. Then suddenly a door at the lower end of the hall flew open, and a boy sprang in, exclaiming—

“‘Grandfather, it’s coming!’

“He was dressed just after the fashion of the old Squire, only with delicate white stockings and black velvet small-clothes; while his long-flapped waistcoat was gaily flowered, and his shoes had crimson rosettes. And almost as he spoke, a side-door opened and my lady glided in, her dress rustling softly as she came; while the wind rushed in after her, and tossed and waved the feathers in her tall headdress.

“Then was heard a distant murmur of shouts and laughter, and young Edric clapped his hands and then stood still to listen; and presently the whole troop of servants poured into the hall from that same door at the lower end. All were dressed in the best and gayest clothes they had,—the women wore ivy wreaths, and the men carried sprigs of holly at their buttonholes. First came a number bearing torches; then many others rolling and pulling and pushing the great log, on which one of the men, whimsically dressed, was endeavouring to keep his seat; while every other man, woman, and child about the place, crowded in after.

“Then the log was rolled into the great fire-place, and duly lighted; and everybody clapped hands and rejoiced in its red glow, and Master Edric shouted as loud as the rest.

“‘Edric,’ said my lady when the hall was quiet once more, though not empty, for all the household were to spend Christmas eve there together,—‘Edric, go take a partner and dance us a minuet.’

“And Edric walked round the hall till he came to little May Underwood, the forester’s daughter; and then bringing the white stockings and the crimson rosettes close side by side together, and making her a low bow, he took her hand and led her out upon the floor.

“The Yule Clog was in a full blaze now, and the clear light shone from end to end of the hall; falling upon the bright floor and the long row of servants and retainers that were ranged around, and glossily reflected from the sharp holly leaves and its bright red berries. The old portraits did not light up much, and looked very near as gloomy as ever; but a full halo of the fireshine was about the Squire’s chair, and upon my lady as she stood beside him. Two or three of the serving-men played a strange old tune upon as strange old instruments; and the forester now and then threw in a few wild notes of his bugle, that sounded through the house and aroused all the echoes: but the wind sighed outside still.

“And all this while the little dancers were going through the slow, graceful steps of their pretty dance; with the most respectful bows and courtesies, the most ceremonious presenting of hands and acceptance of the same, the most graceful and complicated turns and bends; till at last when the music suddenly struck into a quick measure, Edric presented his right hand to little May, and they danced gayly forward to where my lady stood near the Squire, and made their low reverence—first to her and then to each other. Then Edric led his little partner back to her seat and returned to his grandmother. For my lady was his grandmother, and he had no parents.

“As the Yule Clog snapped and crackled and blazed higher and higher, even so did the mirth of all in the great hall. They talked and laughed and sang and played games, and not an echo in the house could get leave to be silent.

“All of a sudden, in the midst of the fun, a little boy dressed like Robin Redbreast in a dark coat and bright red waistcoat, opened one of the hall doors; and just showing himself for a moment, he flung the door clear back and an old man entered. His hair was perfectly white, and so was his beard, which reached down to his waist. On his head was a crown of yew and ivy, and in his hand a long staff topped with holly berries; his dress was a long brown robe which fell down about his feet, and on it were sewed little spots of white cloth to represent snow. He made a low bow to the Squire and my lady, and when Robin Redbreast had discreetly closed the door so far that but a little wind could come in, he began to sing in a queer little cracked voice,—

“Oh! here come I, old Father Christmas, welcome or not,
“I hope old Father Christmas will never be forgot.
“Make room, room, I say,
“That I may lead Mince Pye this way.
“Walk in Mince Pye, and act thy part,
“And show the gentles thy valiant heart.’

“With that Robin opened the door again and another figure came in, dressed like a woman in a dark purple gown bordered with light brownish yellow. A large apple was fastened on top of her head, and she wore bunches of raisins at her ears instead of ear-rings; while her necklace was of large pieces of citron strung together, and her bracelets of cloves and allspice and cinnamon. In her hand she carried a large wooden sword.”

“What was that for?” said Carl, who had listened with the most intense interest.

“Why to fight off the people that wanted to make her up into real mince pie, I suppose,” said the stocking. “She came into the room singing,—

“Room, room, you gallant souls, give me room to rhyme,
“I will show you some festivity this Christmas time.
“Bring me the man that bids me stand,