FullReads

“I see,” said Hugh.

“That is a little fairy tale I made for myself; I often make stories for myself.”

“That must be very nice, Mr. Khwis. How nice it must be for your little children every night when you tell them stories.”

“Yes–yes”–and here Kris had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.

“Isn’t that a doll?” said Alice, looking at the bag.

“Yes; a doll from Japan.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Alice.

“And boxes of sugar-plums for Christmas,” he added. “And, Hugh, here are skates for you and this bundle of books.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And these–and these for my–for Alice,” and Kris drew forth a half-dozen delicate Eastern scarves and cast them, laughing, around the girl’s neck as she stood delighted.

“And now I want to trust you. This is for–for your mother; only an envelope from Kris to her. Inside is a fairy paper, and whenever she pleases it will turn to gold–oh! much gold, and she will be able then to keep her old home and you need never go away, and the pony will stay.”

“Oh! that will be nice. We do sank you, sir; don’t we, Alice?”

“Yes. But now I must go. Kiss me. You will kiss me?” He seemed to doubt it.

“Oh! yes,” they cried, and cast their little arms about him while he held them in a long embrace, loath to let them go.

“O Alice!” said Hugh, “Mr. Khwis is cwying. What’s the matter, Mr. Khwis?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Once I had two little children, and you see you look like them, and–and I have not seen them this long while.”

Alice silently reflected on the amount of presents which Kris’s children must have, but Hugh said:

“We are bofe wewy sorry for you, Mr. Khwis.”

“Thank you,” he returned, “I shall remember that, and now be still a little, I must write to your mother, and you must give her my letter after she has my present.”

“Yes,” said Alice, “we will.”

Then Kris lit a candle and took paper and pen from the table, and as they sat quietly waiting, full of the marvel of this famous adventure, he wrote busily, now and then pausing to smile on them, until he closed and gave the letter to the boy.

“Be careful of these things,” he said, “for now I must go.”

“And will you nevah, nevah come back?”

“My God!” cried the man. “Never–perhaps never. Don’t forget me, Alice, Hugh.” And this time he kissed them again and went by and opened the door to the stairway.

“We thank you ever so much,” said Hugh, and standing aside he waited for Alice to pass, having in his child-like ways something of the grave courtesy of the ancestors who looked down on him from the walls. Alice courtesied and the small cavalier, still with the old rapier in hand, bowed low. Kris stood at the door and listened to the patter of little feet upon the stair; then he closed it with noiseless care. In a few minutes he had put out the candles, resumed his cloak, and left the house. The snow no longer fell. The waning night was clearer, and to eastward a faint rosy gleam foretold the coming of the sun of Christmas. Kris glanced up at the long-windowed house and turning went slowly down the garden path.

Long before their usual hour of rising, the children burst into the mother’s room. “You monkeys,” she cried, smiling; “Merry Christmas to you! What is the matter?”

“Oh! he was here! he did come!” cried Alice.

“Khwis was here,” said Hugh. “I did hear him in the night, and I told Alice it was Khwis, and she said it was a wobber, and I said it wasn’t a wobber. And we went to see, and it was a man. It was Khwis. He did say so.”

“What! a man at night in the house! Are you crazy, children?”

“And Hugh took grandpapa’s sword, and–“

“Gweat-gwanpapa’s,” said Hugh, with strict accuracy.

“You brave boy!” cried the woman, proudly. “And he stole nothing, and, oh! what a silly tale.”