Read Ebook: Santa Claus' Sweetheart by Clark Imogen

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 339 lines and 24955 words, and 7 pages

"Niver a wan, Swate Eyes. I'm the original, simon-pure Santa Claus, an' no mishtake. Troth, they had to get on the best they cud widout me; an' a sorry toime they had av it, wan an' all. Thin I came, an' the wurrld was a different place iver afther--so me mither towld me."

The child breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm so glad I got born when I did. I shouldn't have liked to be borned before you came. I'm half-past six, you know. Who filled your stocking?" she demanded the next moment, as the new idea occurred to her.

"Divil a wan I had to hang up whin I was a spalpeen; 'twas bare-futted an' bare-legged I wint."

"But Christmas,"--the little maid's lip trembled,--"what did you do at Christmas?"

"'Twas like anny plain, ordinary iv'ry day to me, agra, an' no differ; except that wanst in jest so often me mither hid a plum in the bit cake she was afther makin' fer me, an' I'd the joy av searchin' it out mesilf, same as ye'd seek out a naydle in a hayrick. An' toimes it was fat, an' toimes ag'in 'twas like the shadder av itsilf; but glory be! I niver missed it. An' 'twas so good, fat or lane, that I used to drame I'd give iv'ry child in the wurrld a cake all shtuffed wid plums whin I growed up--"

"That was what put it into your head to be Santa Claus."

The man cast a sidelong glance at his companion's eager face.

"S'pose so," he muttered.

"But the star knew all along, and that's why it danced and couldn't keep still." She stole her hand into the curve of his arm, and gave it a soft little squeeze. "Tell me 'bout that first time," she coaxed.

"What first toime?"

"When you went Santa Clausing. Were you very long growing up?"

"'Twas a terrible long spell from the b'y's ind, an' a terrible short wan from the man's,--all av which you'll undershtand whin your hair is me own color. But 'twas over an' done wid sooner or late, an' there I was a man grown, though the heart av me has always been like a child's because av the shtar--"

"And 'cause you belong to us."

"'Tis a Solymon King av Sheba ye are, alanna. Well, I wint about me work, an' I toiled up an' down the wurrld; but the goin' was joyful like, 'count av the fun I left in me wake, an' iv'rywheres folks seemed powerful glad to see me."

"I tried to keep awake last Christmas Eve," she broke in shrilly, "after muvver hanged up my stocking, but the sandman would come. I'd been awake so long that when he crept in in his long gray cloak and with his bag on his back, I thought it was truly you, and my heart went thumpety thump. But he shook out the sand--sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle. 'To-night of all nights you must sleep,' he said; and I cried 'No,' and closed my eyes quick, so's the sand couldn't get in; and when I opened them the next minute it was quite morning--not yellow morning, you know, but just the baby light that comes first. Then very soft, so's not to 'sturb muvver, I crawled out of bed, 'cause it made me incontented to lie still, and there was my stocking, full to the brim. I knew who'd filled it--" She stopped in her recital to smile at him and to pat his arm again. "Then I climbed up on a chair to take it down, and muvver laughed out loud. 'Come back to bed, dear my little own,' she said; 'bring the stocking, and cuddle down warm and snug in blanket land.' So I did; and she kissed me and I kissed her, and we both said 'Merry Christmas' to each uver. She went fast asleep again, but cert'inly you couldn't expect a little girl could sleep. I felt all my presents; muvver says us little folks have eyes in our finger tips; and every minute the light grew brighter, and then--I really saw! Dear, dear Santa Claus, how could you 'member just what I wanted?" She rubbed her dimpling cheek ecstatically against the old sleeve. "But you didn't put anything in muvver's stocking," she added softly.

He could not meet her reproachful glance.

"'Twas in a hurry I was," he mumbled, "an' me bastes shtampin' widout in the cowld--"

"Oh, she didn't know," the child interrupted, "'cause when she was tight asleep I found her stocking, and I put that very rosy-cheeked apple you'd put in mine quite far, far down in hers, and some nuts, too. Cert'inly I couldn't give her the little doll or the picture book, 'cause grown-ups don't care for such things, really; but things to eat are different. You don't mind, do you?"

He did not answer. For the moment it almost seemed as if he had not heard. His head was turned quite away.

"And she was s'prised--oh! you can't think--and glad, too; so glad her eyes got all shiny and bright. But you can't guess what happened next. She said, 'Bless my Santa Claus.' Wasn't that funny? And then she kissed me most 's if she 'spected."

Danny and Whitefoot felt a sudden queer twitch on the reins--a compelling touch that made them both swerve out of the direction they were taking. It was almost as if their driver meant them to turn around. Much earlier in the day, when they first left Wistar's, for instance, such a command would not have appeared singular; but coming at a time when the tavern lay so far behind as to be forgotten, when the world seemed a blanket of drift and down and glistening silver, with no house in sight, the action was at least puzzling to their equine minds. They stopped instantly, however, the noise of their bells hushed into silence. Whitefoot turned a wondering face upon his master, and almost immediately Danny looked protestingly around. The man met their gaze half guiltily. Beyond--oh, very far beyond--lay Merle, with its Christmas fun,--Merle, where he must be that night, or his name would be the jibe of the countryside; and back of them--a good twelve miles, perhaps fifteen, they had jogged on at such a steady pace--was that solitary house. If he turned round it must be good-by to Merle; it would be impossible for Danny and Whitefoot to make the journey again without rest. He shifted the reins from one hand to the other.

"Why are we stopping?" asked the child.

He looked at her in some perplexity, then his brow cleared.

"To give the bastes their feed; they're perishin' wid hunger, so they are, the saints fergive me," he answered, in a relieved tone, glad to postpone his decision for a time.

He threw back the robes as he spoke, and sprang out on the ground. Where they had stopped the narrow, lane-like road widened for a considerable space into a plain again and a well, not far distant from the track, now furnished water for the team, after which a bag at the back of the sleigh poured forth grain into the pails; and when these were set before the horses they fell to work as if Terry's words were in danger of coming true. The child watched the proceedings with wide eyes.

"They're only just very woolly horses, after all," she said, with a tinge of disappointment in her voice, "in the books they're reindeer."

"Sure, the reindeers is at home savin' up forninst this night. I cudn't be dhrivin' thim in the broad daylight, alanna dear; folks wud think us a thravellin' circus widout the elefunt. Begorra, 'tis shtarvin' I am mesilf, an' I'll take my Alfred-Davy ye're in the same boat. We'll be afther havin' a snack oursilves an' a dhrop av somethin' warmin'. Tumble back into the sleigh, mavourneen, an' wrap yoursilf up clost till I shpread the tablecloth ag'inst the bankquid."

The tablecloth, as was speedily disclosed, was nothing more than a very greasy newspaper, which was wrapped around a huge pile of sandwiches, each with a rim of bacon showing darkly between its thick slices of bread, a hunk of cheese, and some fat crackers; but the finest damask under other circumstances would not have seemed half so beautiful in her eyes. And she had no quarrel with the coarse fare. Hunger, after all, is the best sauce for appetite that can be served with any meal, and it is more apt to come in with the plain dishes than with the elaborate ones, as Santa Claus and his little sweetheart proved.

"Faith, I cud ate a nail wid relish if nothin' else was handy," he laughed, as he made his first onslaught on the sandwich he was holding, and lessened it by a third, "but this is a dish to set before a king, so tinder an' tasty as it is. Take a rale thry at it, me darlint; ye do be nibblin' sech little grand lady bites ye'll niver be t'rough. 'Tis wan sandwidge I've put away already, an' ye but embarkin' on the top roof av yours. Here's the second to kape ye comp'ny, Brown Eyes." He took an enormous mouthful, and smiled at her, while he was rendered speechless, and she smiled back, mute, too, from a similar reason.

"Did ye iver taste betther?" he made out to ask.

"Never," she answered promptly; and she really spoke the truth. Sawdust eaten in such companionship would have seemed as palatable as sugar, and the present food was like the ambrosia of the high gods. Even those delicious sandwiches that her mother made for her sometimes, with the little slice of ham blushing faintly between the dainty pieces of bread where the butter lay like a filmy, glistening veil, had never seemed so good and satisfying as these big grown-up ones eaten under the high blue sky in that country of snow and ice.

As soon as the sandwiches had disappeared Santa Claus covered a cracker with bits of cheese like nuggets of gold, and presented it to her with a bow as if she were a queen. It seemed a fitting crown to the feast, though apparently he had quite other ideas of a crown, as was soon shown. When the crackers and cheese were all eaten, and even the last crumb chased home and captured, he put his hand into the breast of his coat and drew out a flat, dark bottle which he regarded with loving eyes.

"Here's me beauty," he cried; "here's what's to top aff a faste a king wudn't disdain; here's something he wudn't give the go-by to, not he!"

"What is it?" the little maid asked curiously.

"What is it? Troth, 'twud take an hour by the clock to tell all the names it has the wurrld over; an' some is good, an' some is bad--the names, I'm manin'. Merry-go-down an' Tangle-legs,--that's shlander'us! an' Water av Health, an' Odivvy, as the Frenchies say, which is the same as Water av Life; but I'm not so much fer water in it mesilf, likin' it nate. Then there's Oil av Gladness an'--Sure ye shall have the first taste, mavourneen, as 'tis fit an' proper--ladies always lead. Come, shtand up an' give us the toast--"

"The toast--" she looked around bewildered; "why, we've eaten all the bread, and there isn't any fire--"

"This is the fire an' the bread too," roared Santa Claus. "Bless your innercent sowl, me dear, 'tis a propysition I'm afther askin' ye fer. Whist now, the fellies at the tavern sit 'round, an' before they drink wan will git up an' say, a-wavin' av his glass, 'Here's to him'--namin' some wan prisint; or 'Here's to honist hearts an' true;' or 'Here's to thim at home, God love thim!' an' we all drink to it. So now thin, Swate Eyes, spake quickly, an' drink long, an' pass the bottle spadily if ye love me, fer iv'ry minnit's an hour till it quinches me thirst."

She got to her feet quite gravely, her eyebrows drawn together in the little pucker they always made when she was thinking very hard; and first she looked up at the sky, and then around at the stretch of land where the sparkles under the crusted snow flashed like so many imprisoned diamonds, and then at the sky again as if for inspiration. Finally her glance rested upon him, leaning forward, regarding her with his merry smile.

"Why, here's to you," she cried, "our very own, ownest Santa Claus."

She tipped the bottle against her lips as she finished speaking, gurgled a little, choked, spluttered--

"Saints above! child, howld your hand stiddy," Terry shouted. "'Tis your hood-shtrings an' your coat as is gettin' all that precious elixir, an' iv'ry dhrop av it a jool."

"Oh, take it away very quick," she gasped. "I'm sorry to spill it, but it's most dreffly horrid."

"Aisy, me darlint, aisy! There's no accountin' fer tastes, as the ould woman said when she kissed her cow. It's a quare wurrld this is; but sure, 'tis a most glorious dispinsation av Providince that we don't all be thinkin' alike. See! I'll have to take your share as well as me own. An' first, here's me hand on me heart to your toast, an' the honor av it; 'tis proud I am at this minnit, an' next, here's to ye--shtandin'--here's to the best thing a man can have in this wurrld,--the love av a little child."

She stood up facing him, and bowed as he had done.

"Here's me hand on me heart to your toast," she echoed, "an' the honor of it, 'tis proud I am at this minute."

Then she climbed back on the seat and watched him with round eyes as he tilted his head very far back and took a deep draught. If his attack on the sandwiches had astonished her, this new conduct awakened all her wonder. As he took the bottle from his lips he uttered a sigh which immediately slipped into a loud guffaw at sight of her expression.

"You can't like it," she shuddered.

"I'm not quarrellin' wid the taste," he answered, "an' annyway, 'tis by the docthor's orders I do be takin' a dhrop av the crayther, to kape the cold out an' the warm in. A nip once in jest so often, the wise ould man sez, an' don't improve on the occasions, mind ye! But sure, there's a toast I haven't yet given, an' that's to our next merry meetin', an' may it come sooner than 'tis expected."

He neither looked nor bowed her way; indeed, the words were addressed to his familiar spirits, and his eyes were fixed solely upon what he held in his hand. After a moment he put the bottle back in his breast, and buttoned his coat securely across.

"An' now to juty, swateheart," he cried, springing out of the sleigh, "the raypast is over, an' the horses have gorged thimsilves like magisthrates, the rapaycious gossoons! Come, be shpry, an' lind a hand wid the pails."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet