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Title: The Story of the Mince Pie

Author: Josephine Scribner Gates

Release Date: July 17, 2017 [EBook #55143]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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THE STORY OF THE MINCE PIE


[Illustration: “Here! what’s this rolling across the floor?”

  (_Page 142_)
]




  THE STORY OF
  THE MINCE PIE

  BY
  JOSEPHINE SCRIBNER GATES
  Author of “Captain Billie,” “The Story of Live Dolls,”
  “Little Girl Blue,” etc.

  ILLUSTRATED BY
  JOHN RAE

  [Illustration]

  NEW YORK
  DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
  1916

  COPYRIGHT, 1916
  BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.

By courtesy of _St. Nicholas_, in which “And Piped Those Children
Back Again” and “Anna Belle’s Christmas Eve” first appeared, they are
included in this volume.

The Mince Pie has always held an important place in Christmas Tales,
but it remained for Mrs. Mildred G. Potter to conceive the idea of
making it the main feature.

It is my pleasure to give to her my grateful acknowledgment for the
happy thought which it has been my privilege to embody in story form.

  Here’s to the Dolls that will come to life,
  Here’s to the Tales they’ll tell
  Out of the depths of the Christmas Pie,
  To the tune of a Christmas Bell!

  Here’s to the Sugar and Fruit and Spice,
  Here’s to the Story Elf,
  Here’s to that Fragrance of Christmas Time,
  Here’s to the Pie itself!

  Big and spicy and rich and brown,
  What does that top crust hide?
  You know how it looks from an outside view,
  Now read what it’s like inside!


  BY
  DOT AND NICK
  WHO ALSO WANTED A FINGER
  IN THIS PIE!

  J. S. G.




CONTENTS


                                         PAGE

  THE MINCE PIE                             1

  RAISIN DOLL                              10

  CURRANT DOLL                             18

  CLOVE DOLL                               21

  DANCE OF THE ELVES                       26

  SPRITE’S TALE                            27

  ALLSPICE DOLL                            37

  NUTMEG DOLL                              39

  CINNAMON DOLL                            42

  PIED PIPER STORY                         46

  MRS. SUGAR                               60

  MOLASSES DOLL                            66

  VINEGAR KING                             70

  CITRON DOLL                              74

  TALES OF THE ORANGE AND LEMON DOLLS      76

  ANNA BELLE’S CHRISTMAS EVE               79

  TALES OF THE SALT AND PEPPER TWINS      104

  APPLE DOLL                              108

  JOHNNY APPLESEED                        110

  STOLEN DOLL CLOTHES                     129

  BROWNIE DOLL                            134

  PIE CRUST                               142

  HOW JACK FILLED THE STOCKINGS           146

  INTERROGATION POINT                     157




ILLUSTRATIONS


  “Here! what’s this rolling across the floor?”    _Frontispiece_
          (Page 142)

                                                           FACING
                                                            PAGE

  “They’ve been peeking in that big book”                       8

  “Behold, the Story Sprite!”                                  16

  “Great sport they had flying wonderful kites”                28

  “We will both wish for her to come”                          36

  “The beauty of the scene almost overwhelmed him”             50

  “Sometimes it is gingerbread, or maybe plump brown
     cookies”                                                  60

  “Suddenly something startled the horse, and he ran
     away”                                                     70

  “She was making dolls from bottles”                          82

  “‘Show what we are to take,’ cried the Fairy. ‘We
      must hurry’”                                             94

  “I am used very extensively as an April Fool”               104

  “The children sat at his feet and listened to thrilling
     tales”                                                   112

  “They looked like a lot of gnomes dressed for a party”      122

  “She loved her home”                                        134

  “He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful
     toy store”                                               148

  “Best pie you ever made, my dear”                           160




THE STORY OF THE MINCE PIE


  “Sing a Song o’ sixpence a pocket full of rye,
  Four and twenty Dollies baked in a pie,
  When the pie was opened the Dolls began to sing,
  Wasn’t that an odd dish to set before the King?”

You have heard of many kinds of pie, but did you ever hear of a Doll
pie?

No one ever did, I am sure, and no one knew the pie was full of dolls;
everybody supposed it was just a plain mince pie; the kind that makes
your eyes twinkle, and makes you smack your lips when you sniff it
baking.

I have always thought it was the kind Jack Horner had when he sat in
the corner and pulled out a plum, but never did I dream that he might
have pulled out a doll!

I found it out in such an extremely funny and unexpected way that I
must tell you all about it.

It was Christmas Eve. Jack’s father was away but coming home on the
morrow in time for all the Christmas doings.

We had locked up the house and were just going upstairs to bed when
Jack exclaimed:

“Mother, you know the mince pie you baked to-day? We must take it up to
bed with us!”

“A pie, a mince pie to bed with us?” I cried in amazement, as I thought
of the spicy delicious thing safely stowed away on the pantry shelf.

“Yes, Mother, you know there is a mouse. It ate up my gingerbread doll;
didn’t leave even a crumb. How would we feel if it ate up our mince
pie!”

That was true. There had been a mouse spying about of late, and so I
said all right, we would.

I carried it up very carefully, and we stood in the middle of the room
looking about for a good place to put it.

It was a bitter night. The maid had built a grand fire of logs, and
they crackled and snapped a Christmas greeting as we stood seeking a
resting place for the pie.

“I see a fine spot!” cried Jack, as he ran to the big grandfather
clock, and sure enough it was. A shelf just under the pendulum that
seemed made on purpose for a pie. We placed it there and covered it
carefully with a napkin.

“The pie is going to bed, too,” I said, as I snuggled it up under its
cover.

Jack shouted over this, and we both had a merry time undressing before
the jolly fire.

We hung up our stockings and one for Father, then hopped into bed.

Jack nestled up close and begged for a bedtime story, which I always
told him. A drowsy tale which sent him to sleep, and me, too, before it
was barely finished.

I really didn’t know I was asleep, but suddenly a queer sound startled
me, and as I listened I heard Jack smothering a giggle.

“What is it, dear?” I whispered.

“Oh, Mother, such a funny thing! I heard the clock chain rattle, and
I looked and the mouse ran up the clock, and I heard voices singing:
‘Hickory Dickory Dock.’ Now look quick!”

We both stared at the napkin over the pie, for it began to get humpy.
You have played “tent” under the bedclothes, of course.

Well, there seemed a dozen somethings playing that game, for the napkin
humped up here and there till presently it was lifted off and fell to
the floor.

It was just like a matinée. The napkin seemed to be the curtain rolled
away, then the show began.

We heard queer voices singing, and then we saw such a sight! Out of
that pie filed a lot of dolls, the strangest looking dolls any one ever
saw.

One seemed to be made of raisins; another of currants—the dried sugary
kind. One had a round apple for a head, and such rosy cheeks it looked
like a blooming country maid wearing a Dutch blue gown and an apron as
white as snow.

Back of her was a brownie, holding the hand of a creamy white fat boy.
Following them was a group, one had a round nut-like head; another
was stuck full of what looked like cloves; another was tall and thin
just like a stick. With him was a pair of twins. They looked for all
the world like salt and pepper boxes. They were much smaller than the
others and teetered on the edge of the pie like tiny fairies.

Then came another pair, one with an orange for a head, the other a
lemon. As they pranced along, their fluffy orange and yellow skirts
stood out like ballet dancers.

Then came a dumpy maid all sparkly white.

“She’s the shape of a fat sugar bowl, Mother!” whispered Jack, and,
sure enough, she looked as though she had walked right off the tea tray.

Following her came one with a small oval brown head, looking so wise.

With her was one with a large green head.

Back of them strode another pair; one looking like a molasses jug, the
other like a vinegar cruet.

Such a funny lot as they were!

We looked and laughed, and laughed and looked. They raced about on the
very edge of the crust as though they were playing Ring around a Rosy;
then at a signal from the tall thin fellow they ran down the spiral
column of the clock over to the hearth.

“We can have a Christmas dance right here,” cried the rosy-cheeked
apple maid; at this joyful news they switched off their sashes.

The tall thin one fastened the ends to the top of an andiron, and there
in the firelight we saw a dance, such as no one ever saw before. Round
and round they danced, till the iron was bound with ribbon to its very
base; then the little creatures threw themselves on the hearth.

“Let’s play school!” cried the tall thin Stick Doll, who seemed to be
chairman for the occasion.

“Mercy, no!” cried another. “I don’t like school. I don’t want to learn
things.”

“I said let’s _play_ school. We don’t have to learn anything. It will
be fun. We’ll each tell a story.”

“A story!” echoed the whole bunch.

“What kind of a story?”

“A true story.”

“We don’t know any,” they all sighed.

“Oh, yes, you do. You all know fine stories, and if you’ll tell them,
something grand is going to happen!”

“What?” cried the audience.

“This is the one night of all the year when wonderful things happen.”

With wide open eyes and mouths they crept closer to the speaker, and
listened breathlessly.

“This is Christmas Eve. Didn’t you hear the mouse go up the clock? It’s
hiding and watching. Pretend you aren’t looking, but see the two bright
eyes peering at us, just at the end by the big hand. It wants the pie.
As long as we are here it will not come down. That is a Christmas pie
for the Christmas dinner to-morrow.

[Illustration: “They’ve been peeking in that big book”]

“If we go back the mouse will run down and gobble us all up. So there
is nothing for us to do but stay here. It’s a long time till morning,
and we better do something while we wait. How can we better while away
the time than with stories? We dare not go to sleep, you know. If
you’ll each tell a story you can have a gift, too.”

“A gift!” cried the chorus. “Well, that would be worth while. Pray tell
us what will the gift be?”

“That’s a secret I am not allowed to tell. The reason is, because I do
not know.”

“He does not know. He does not know,” sang the chorus, running down the
scale as a mouse runs across the piano keys.

“Well,” cried the wee Salt and Pepper Pair which seemed inseparable,
“since you know so much, you better begin the story-hour.”




TALE OF THE RAISIN DOLL


“I speak to be the teacher,” cried the Raisin Doll.

“Very well, you must tell the first story, then.”

“What must the stories be about?”

“Oh, there is only one thing to tell. We must each tell our history
from the time we were born, in order to have the gift.”

“Will the gift be good to eat?” asked the creamy white Fat Boy.

“Best ever you tasted. That’s all I could find out about it. Now begin.”

The Raisin Doll pranced over to the end of the hearth, made a quick
bow, and politely began:

“Ladies and Gentlemen:”

Everybody giggled, but he went bravely on.

“I don’t seem to remember the day I was born.”

“Not many do,” whispered one to another.

“It isn’t polite to interrupt,” frowned the speaker.

“The first thing I remember a whole bunch of us was hanging from a
vine—”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” shouted the chorus. “A whole bunch of him was hanging
from a vine!”

“Well, there was a whole bunch of us, and as I looked about I saw many
bunches and many, many vines.

“It was beautiful there in the sunlight. I never saw such glorious
sunshine—”

“Where?” cried the audience.

“In a place called California.”

“Where is that?” asked one.

“Don’t tell us; we don’t want to know,” hastily cried the audience. “We
aren’t to learn things here in this school.”

“I won’t tell you. I’ll show you,” and the speaker hopped on to the
large globe that stood in the corner.

He slid down one side and placed his big toe on the spot where
California claimed to be.

They all watched his antics closely, for in their hearts they did want
to know where those bunches of grapes grew, even though they didn’t
seem to want to learn anything.

“That’s exactly where my bunch of grapes grew, but I have cousins
called Malagas and Muscatels who come from Spain.

“You don’t want to know where that is, of course. I am now going to
take a little run around the world. Pretend I’m a top spinning, and
the spot where I stop and twirl will be where my relatives live. When
it’s time to twirl I’ll squeak and you can then close your eyes for the
moment, so you won’t add anything to your store of knowledge.

“For my part, I would feel quite pleased if I were sailing around the
world and could say, ‘Oh, Mr. Captain, just stop a few moments in
Mediterranean Spain. I want a pocket full of raisins to eat; the layer
kind, big fat juicy ones’; or if I were pudding hungry I’d wheedle
him a little. I’d say, ‘Now, Captain dear, I’d just like to run into
Valencia. We need a few pudding raisins. We’ll have a pudding that’ll
melt in your mouth if we can go there.’

“I think that’s much better than to stand around with my mouth open,
and when we steam into these places be wondering what grows there, and
why we stopped.”

That was a new idea. Journeys on ships were fun, and how proud one
would feel to be able to show the Captain just where to go for certain
things.

“Mother,” whispered Jack, “let’s watch where he twirls. Maybe a captain
might even beg us to go and show him where raisins grow, so he can
bring back a shipload of them!”

The Raisin Doll now skipped gaily along as though he were going to the
corner grocery for a stick of candy.

The audience gazed fascinated, and instead of closing eyes as he
squeaked, they hardly dared wink for fear they might miss some of that
raisin country.

“Where is he now?” one and another whispered as he paused and twirled,
crying:

“There! There is the very spot where many of my cousins live, and
because they live there instead of in California they are much sweeter.”

“Tell us why, tell us why,” clamoured the audience.

“For a very good reason. We are picked in bunches and dried in an oven
in sugar. They are dried in the sun, and are called sun raisins. Their
leaves are taken off, and a jolly time they have in the sunshine and
fresh air. A much better way than to be shut in an oven in the dark.

“However, we have to make the best of it; the cool nights and heavy
dews would ruin us if we stayed out, so we just cuddle up in the nice
warm dark, and look forward to the moment when the big oven door will
fly open, then we know something nice is to happen, for America sends
millions of pounds of raisins to other countries, and we just love to
go.

“The sun raisins are the kind used for Christmas goodies, and are
packed between layers of paper in large wooden boxes.

“Other places they come from are here, and here, and here, and here.”

As he spoke, he twirled over various parts of the globe, touching
Persia, Greece, Italy, and Southern France.

“It is quite grand to be a sun raisin and come in a box looking so
large and delicious, and to know you are the finest of your kind, but
I’d just about as soon be a pudding raisin, when the Cook comes in and
says:

“‘Dear suz me, Missus, we can’t have pudding to-day!’

“Then all the children set up a dismal wail and Missus says, ‘Why not,
I’d like to know!’

“‘Because we are just out of pudding raisins,’ but she adds cheerfully,
‘We have the layer kind. Could we use those?’

“‘Certainly not,’ says the Missus, with her head up like this and her
mouth turned down like this. ‘They cost too much. We’ll have to have
something else.’

“Then at dinner the Mister cries, ‘Why didn’t we have pudding to-day;
we always have it on Tuesday!’

“‘Cause no pudding raisins in the house,’ cry the children, sniffing
again.

[Illustration: “Behold, the Story Sprite!”]

“‘Send for a barrel of them,’ orders the Mister. ‘When that gives
out, get another at once. When I have my mouth made up for pudding on
Tuesdays I don’t want to be disappointed.’

“Wouldn’t that make a cute little pudding raisin hug herself?

“Another kind of raisin grows here in Smyrna; they are the small
seedless kind.”

“The Corinthian raisin currant—”

“Boo! hoo! hoo!” interrupted somebody, apparently much grieved.

“Who’s crying like that?” asked the Raisin Doll.

“I am,” came in sobbing tones.

“Why?” asked everybody, standing on tip toe to see the weeping one.

“He’s telling my story. There isn’t much to tell about me, and if he
tells it, I can’t; then I won’t get a gift!”

“To be sure you won’t!” said the tall Stick Doll. “Mr. Raisin, are you
going to tell everybody’s story, may I ask?”

“Why, no,” said the Raisin Doll, a bit fussed over the uproar; “I
forgot that one of my cousins was present.




TALE OF THE CURRANT DOLL


“Allow me to introduce to you the light-hearted, joyous-natured
Corinthian raisin Currant.”

The light-hearted, joyous-natured Currant Doll wiped his tears away as
he bowed and wailed:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am, though maybe I don’t look it.”

“Am what?” queried the audience sympathetically.

“Am what he said—light hearted and gay—and though my story is short
I am just as important as any of you. What good would a bun be without
currants? Just tell me that!” he cried in tragic tones, striking such
a funny attitude even Mother stifled a giggle.

“I came from a beautiful vine that grows in the lowlands of Zante of
the Ionian Islands belonging to Greece. I’ll show you the very spot.”

Here the audience was much surprised to see the light-hearted creature
turn a somersault down the slippery side of the globe and land in a
nest of small dots.

“These are islands,” he announced, “and here the vines are planted
in neat little rows three feet apart. Our grapes are like berries no
larger than a pea, and grow in clusters about three inches long.

“When about three years old the vine produces bunches of three kinds;
red, black, and white grapes without seeds. We play hide and seek under
the large leaves which protect us from the strong winds and hot sun.

“When we have grown as large as we can we are picked, dried, packed,
and sent many miles away. That’s all.”

And he sat down so hard he bounced up again like a rubber ball.

“Three cheers for the Currant!” cried the Stick Doll. “He seems to have
grown up under the figure three, and that brings good luck.

“Now, who wants to tell next?”

Nobody moved, and the Stick Doll cried:

“We’ll decide it by playing Ring around a Rosy. The last one down will
be it. Come, hold hands, circle, and sing.”




TALE OF THE CLOVE DOLL


Round and round they went, singing to an accompaniment of rollicking
laughter, and at the words: “Hush, hush, hush, we all fall down,” they
fell in a heap, the Clove Doll being the last to fall.

“Allow me,” cried the Stick Doll, as he gallantly set Miss Clove on her
feet.

“We will now have the pleasure of listening to this spicy creature. She
surely has a fine story to tell.”

Miss Clove had been slyly studying the dictionary, and longed to
impress the audience with the wonderful story of her life. She smoothed
her crimson sash, perked the butterfly bow on her hair till it seemed
almost ready to fly away, and with cheeks as red as her ribbons began
timidly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: I am an undeveloped bud—”

“Ha! Ha!” cried one, who looked much like a vinegar cruet. “That is a
joke!”

“Why?” demanded the Stick Doll.

“She said undeveloped.”

“So she did, what of it? You may tell us what the word means.”

The sour-looking one, much confused, stalked away as he murmured under
his breath,

“We aren’t to learn anything here, I thought.”

“No, but if you knew the meaning of it, you would answer very promptly,
so the joke is on you. The speaker can, of course, tell us.”

The Clove Doll’s cheeks flushed even redder than before, and wished
with all her heart she had not used the large word of which she was so
proud.

“I am sure I cannot tell what it means. It’s what I am, and it’s the
way my story begins.”

“Who knows what the very large word used by the very small one means?”
asked the Stick Doll, of the audience.

The Pepper and Salt Twins now stepped forward. They swayed from side to
side and in sing-song tones cried:

“Un means not. Undeveloped means not developed; developed means
finished.”

“Excellent memory you have,” said the Stick Doll.

“They’ve been peeking in that big book, too; I saw them,” cried the
Vinegar Cruet. “Any one could do that.”

“Tell tale tit, your tongue shall be slit,” sang the whole crowd.

“Here! Here! This won’t do. Come, let us hear the rest of the story of
this unfinished maid.”

“It isn’t true that I am not finished! As a clove I am complete and
perfect. It is only that the buds are used before they are quite ready
to turn into blossoms.

“If my buds were allowed to blossom there would never be a clove. What
would the pickled peach do then, poor thing?”

  “She’d stay in her jar,
   And soon be sour,
   And moulder away on the shelf, poor thing!”

promptly sang the audience.

At this Jack and Mother hid their heads in the blankets, shaking with
laughter, and came forth with very red faces just in time to hear Miss
Clove continue her spicy tale.

“The clove tree grows in the woods in hot countries, specially here and
here, and here.”

“She’s on roller skates,” whispered Jack, as the Clove Lady sailed
quickly and gracefully around the globe, touching with her wheeled feet
Zanzibar, Brazil, and the West Indies.

“The audience need not note especially the countries pointed out,” said
the Stick Doll, “but it is to me most interesting. You may continue.”

The Clove Doll had snatched the moment while she waited to again
improve her mind through the big book, and now announced importantly:

“I am very pungent. That means aromatic.”

“Oh!” cried the Vinegar Cruet, “you had to shut the book too quick to
find the meaning of that, but I happen to know it.

“Why are you like me?”

“Happy thought,” said the Stick Doll; “let’s turn this into a puzzle
contest. Why is the clove like vinegar?”

“Give it up. Give it up. What’s the answer?” sang the audience.

“Because we are both sharp,” politely answered the Vinegar Cruet,
strutting about like a peacock.

“Sharp! Ha! Ha!” cried Pepper and Salt. “S’pose you’ve been visiting
the scissors’ grinder.”

“Vinegar is right,” said the Clove Doll. “We are both smart.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Let’s all carry a pocket dictionary and we can be
smart and sharp, too,” laughed some one.

“Dear me!” cried the Clove Doll. “Did I really say smart? I mis-spoke.
I am sharp. I mean stinging to the tongue.”

Before she could say another word she was surrounded and tested so
vigorously by the many tongues, she shrieked indignantly:

“Stop! we don’t lick the ladder till the ice cream is done. Now let me
finish.

“My buds turn green, then red and hard. Then we are laid near the smoke
of a wood fire in the sun to dry. We don’t like that smudge and are
glad enough when we turn brown, then we know we are finished. I might
say developed,” she added, with a triumphant glance at her hearers.




DANCE OF THE ELVES


“The last night there in the woods we had a grand time. We looked like
a lot of elves dancing in the red glow shed by the fire.

“I’ll never forget what happened that night. We had just finished a
weird dance and were huddled together watching the sparks mount to the
sky, when there appeared in our midst a queer little Being, who seemed
to spring from the fire.

“She seated herself in our midst and told us the grandest stories I
ever heard!”

“Oh!” cried Allspice, “I wish she would come here!”

At that instant they heard a far-off voice. It seemed to come from the
flames. Singing, singing, nearer and nearer.




THE STORY SPRITE’S TALE


Suddenly from the very centre of the fire sprang a wonderful vision, a
tiny creature, who seemed clothed in wreaths of flame. With a joyous
greeting, as jolly as the fire itself, she cried:

“Your wish is granted. Behold, the Story Sprite! Since I attended the
clove party I have been around the world and have a fine collection of
tales.

“I am fresh from Japan, now, where I saw enacted a most exciting
tale. Creep close to my feet while I tell it. I wish you could see
the children in Japan. They are so beautiful; clad in their brilliant
coloured kimonos, they look like a mass of poppies nodding in the wind.

“One dear little Japanese maid did such a splendid thing!

“Without speaking a word, with only her dear two hands, she saved a
young man from being imprisoned for life. He was an American gentleman,
who had been sent to Japan on business.

“He was lonely so far from home, and became very friendly with Cherry
Blossom, the child of one with whom he had business relations.

“He was very much interested in the queer games she played, and spent
much time with her.

[Illustration: “Great sport they had flying wonderful kites”]

“Great sport they had flying wonderful kites that looked like gorgeous
birds with outspread wings, or maybe seated on the beach she would
make sand pictures, which were her great delight.

“They usually wound up these visits with a tea-party. The child seated
opposite him, looking like a brilliant butterfly, poised for a moment
as she handed him the fragile cup filled with the fragrant beverage.

“In time he became very dear to her, and one day while playing with
her dolly she overheard something that sorely troubled her little
heart. Her father was talking in low mysterious tones to some Japanese
friends. Suddenly she heard the American’s name. She pricked up her
ears.

“Dear! Dear! Such startling news she could hardly believe.

“They thought he was a spy and were going to put him in prison very
soon! They walked away, leaving the child grief-stricken.

“What a spy was, she did not know; but what she did know was that her
precious friend must be saved from that awful fate, for once in prison
he might never be released.

“He had told her of his own little girl, who was even now, in that far
away land called America, watching for his home coming. As she gazed
off seaward she saw a ship that might sail any day. He must go on it
and she must tell him why, but how could she?

“Never was she allowed to be alone with him for one moment. Always when
playing her childish games with him, her nurse sat near by, within
hearing of her voice, her beady eyes watching her every movement.

“As the child pondered on this startling state of affairs, her friend
suddenly appeared. At once the nurse glided to her post.

“‘See the ship,’ he cried in her native language. ‘It will sail this
evening. The next ship that comes will take me home to my baby. Let’s
go and buy her a doll.’

“To the shop they went, the nurse trotting along beside them.

“They bought a wonderful doll, an exact copy of Cherry Blossom in her
silken robes.

“They bought many other toys, among them a complete outfit for making
sand pictures.

“‘I’ll tell my baby how you helped me to choose her doll. Now let’s go
to the beach and you bring your sand bags and teach me how to make the
pictures so I can make them for her.’

“Happy thought! Now maybe she could have an instant, just a weenty
instant alone with him, and so she asked the nurse to bring the bags of
sand.

“‘You come, too,’ whispered the nurse, and refused to budge without the
child.

“Japanese children must be obedient, and she followed, not even daring
to allow her little feet to lag or to seem disturbed in any way.

“She was soon seated on the beach close beside her friend, while the
nurse sat a little apart knitting, her eyes fixed on the pair.

“Making pictures in the sand is a wonderful game, a game the Japanese
children adore.

“They have three bags of coloured sand and one of white. It is most
fascinating to see them spread in the form of a square the white sand,
till it resembles a sheet of white paper. On this with black and red,
yellow or blue, they produce wonderful landscape effects.

“Cherry Blossom plunged her hands into the bags, her thoughts far away
from the game.

“Suddenly her eyes flashed. She knew how to give him the message. Why
hadn’t she thought of it before! Pictures could tell most anything, and
so she eagerly began.

“Immediately from her tiny fingers the varicoloured sand trickled in a
thin stream.

“At first as he idly watched, he saw in her picture a bit of sea, on
which presently appeared a ship with spreading sail. On the fluffy
white waves, creeping up to the shore, rocked a tiny boat. On the land
appeared a prison, a perfect copy of one he had seen many times. In the
small boat an American was seated.

“The man watched in tense silence. The child was telling him something.
He lit a cigarette with unsteady hands, but as he remembered the
sentinel on guard, he began to hum a tune.

“The child’s hands never trembled as she next produced a number of
Japanese gentlemen.

“Now the man disappeared from the boat, and at once was seen peering
through the prison bars.

“Just here the nurse suspiciously drew near to see the picture.

“The man quickly pointed to the sky, crying gaily, ‘See the birds!’

“As the nurse gazed Skyward, one swift stroke of his hand destroyed the
picture, and he said quietly:

“‘Now let me make one. You do them so well I am afraid you will think I
am a bungler, but I want to try.’

“As he worked, he whistled a merry tune, and the child felt that
he meant her to know he understood. She soon saw that he, too, was
picturing a message, for in the twinkling of an eye he had fashioned a
tree, its green branches stretching out over the white background.

“On a low branch he placed a bird. It seemed to be making an effort
to free itself from a thong which held its little foot. From its beak
fluttered a banner. Under his fingers this banner was soon transfigured
into an American flag.

“As the man worked, the merry tune was replaced by sharp twitters and
chirps as though the bird were distressed.

“The child watched fascinated, as underneath the tree she saw a
Japanese child taking shape. Her fingers rested on the bird’s foot, and
suddenly by a quick twirl of his hand the bird was blotted out and in
an instant plainly to be seen poised on the mast of a ship, carolling a
glad song of freedom.

“Then the picture was swept away, and with one look into the child’s
beautiful eyes, a look that told volumes, he gathered up his purchases
and sauntered away.

“In his room he hastily packed his belongings, and later on under
cover of the darkness he was safely stowed on the ship.

“As Cherry Blossom drowsily closed her eyes she heard the ship’s shrill
whistle as it steamed away, and she rejoiced that she had been able
with her own little hands to send her dear friend back to his baby.

“There was great excitement the next day when it was learned the
American had vanished.

“The nurse was closely questioned. Never had she left the child alone,
and her mother also declared that she too had been on guard, and all
she saw was that they made pictures in the sand without even a word.

“And so the secret never was told till now, and it will still be a
secret, for pie people never never tell, and now good-bye till you wish
for me again.”

[Illustration: “We will both wish for her to come”]

With a graceful courtesy the Story Sprite vanished as suddenly as she
had appeared, and the audience sat for a moment listening spellbound
to her song fast dying away.

Then long-drawn breaths were heard and the Clove Doll cried, “Wasn’t
she perfect? I never dreamed she would come here, but I am glad she did.




TALE OF THE ALLSPICE DOLL


“Now will my cousin, Miss Allspice, please step forward and tell her
story.”

This dear little doll timidly made her way back of the speaker, and,
holding shyly to her skirt, peeped out, and said in low tones:

“I am just a small round berry from the Pimento. A wee evergreen tree
that grows on the limestone hills, on the Islands of the West Indies.

“We are about the size of a pea, gathered in August, and dried in the
sun for several days. The stems are then taken off and we are packed in
a bag and sent to America.

“There such a thing happened to us as you would never believe
possible. We were turned out of the bags, looking like a lot of dried
hard peas. We were so happy to be at the end of our journey, and see
daylight again.

“We smiled up at the blue sky as we merrily rolled out of the sacks,
but, alas, our joy was only for a moment, as we found ourselves
turned into a grinder of some sort. Suddenly we heard a whizzing sound,
and there we had turned from peas into a fine powder.

“They named us Allspice because we have the flavour of cinnamon,
nutmeg, and cloves, and everybody loves us.”

Out of breath, the modest little creature completely vanished in
Clove’s skirt, blown there by the applause which now filled the room.

“Well done!” cried the Stick Doll. “You mean a lot if you are small.
Now I think we should hear from the Nutmeg, since spice seems to hold
our attention at present.”




TALE OF THE NUTMEG DOLL


The doll with the small brown head now arose and walked over to the
place of honour. She was a study in green. Her gown was formed of
leaves from the tree upon which she grew, and an artistic picture she
made as she faced her audience.

“My dear friends,” she said, and paused.

“I take my pen in hand to say I am well—” came in an audible whisper.

“And hope you are the same,” flashed the Nutmeg. “I admit I was a bit
flurried. But thanks to your hurried letter just received I am myself
again. I need to be, for I am rather interesting.

“I come chiefly from the Banda Islands, and some of my poor relations
come from the West Indies and Brazil, where dear little Allspice lives.

“She forgot to welcome you to her home and I will show you where it
is,” and she took from her pocket some tiny round balls and tossed them
in various directions.

To the surprise of all, the balls lodged and stuck, and the onlookers
were so interested in learning whether they stuck where they should
they forgot they weren’t to learn anything.

“They did!” whispered Jack and Mother in one breath, and, sure enough,
some lodged in the Banda Islands, others in the West Indies.

“Some of us live in South America,” and she lightly tossed a few more
balls, all of which clung to their native lands.

“What do you mean by poor relations?” asked the Stick Doll.

“I mean the poorer quality of nutmegs. The Brazilian nutmeg brings oil
for hard soap and candles.

“I am the better quality, and am the kernel of a fruit which is round
and about the size of a walnut.

“The outside coat is two inches across before it splits open, and the
nutmeg, of course, comes out, just as the chestnut falls from the burr.
A network of tiny fibres is wound about it, and this second coat is
dried and ground and called mace.

“The olive-shaped nut, about an inch in length, is turned over every
day for two months, and treated with lime to preserve it. Then it is
the nutmeg which you see before you.”

“What are you good for, please, Mam?” asked the Vinegar Cruet with a
sour expression.

“What am I good for?” she cried indignantly. “What am I not good for?
Look in the cook-book on the pantry shelf and see if there is anything
worth while that hasn’t a dash of me in it.

“You’ll find every good housewife has one of me in a tiny grater
hanging where she can find it in the dark. Your puddings, and pies, and
gingerbreads, and cakes, and blanc-manges, and egg noggs, and—”

“Here! Here! my dear lady, we can’t wait to let you go through the
whole cook-book. We’ll take your word for it. Now since I seem to
belong to the same family, perhaps I had better entertain you next.




TALE OF THE CINNAMON DOLL


“I am called Cinnamon, and I’m just about as spicy as any of you. I am
exactly as important to the pickled peaches as is Miss Clove, and where
would the coffee cake be without me, I’d like to know?”

He paused and gazed about in a dramatic way that convulsed Jack, who
whispered:

“Isn’t he funny, Mother, so long and lank, and such an expression I
never saw!”

“Did any of you ever hear of cinnamon candy?” continued the speaker.
“Could it be cinnamon candy without me?”

As no one replied to this, he cried:

“Certainly not! and now I will show you where I grow. It is right
here,” and, with one stride of his long legs one foot rested on the
Island of Ceylon in the Indian Ocean near Persia.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cinnamon, but where did you get your seven-league
boots?” asked the Vinegar Cruet.

“They grew on me, so I didn’t need to buy them. You can’t tease me that
way. I can’t help it because I am long legged any more than you can
help looking sour. When you turn sweet I’ll have short legs; that’s a
bargain. Send me an invitation to your candy pull.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please excuse this rude interruption, and I will
proceed.

“When the cinnamon trees are almost two years old small branches are
cut off and the outer bark removed, leaving the inner bark, which is
then peeled off and dried.

“In drying it takes the form of rolls called quills, the smaller ones,
as they dry, are thrust into the larger. Sometimes it is ground fine
and packed in bags.

“I am not only used in flavouring food, but in many medicines.

“Now I think the spices have finished their tales, and we can have a
complete change of programme.”

“Oh!” cried Allspice, “before we go on let’s have the Story Sprite
again.”

“Is it your desire that the Story Sprite appear?” asked Cinnamon Stick.
“If so, Allspice and I will break this wishbone I see hanging over the
hearth.”

“Oh! Do! Do!” cried one and all.

“Very well, we will both wish for her to come, then we can’t possibly
fail whichever way it breaks.”

And so snap went the bone, but much dismayed they were when it was
found each held the short end, for the centre had taken to itself wings.

“Oh, I _wish_ she would come anyhow!” they chorused, and once more from
the flames sprang the Story Elf.

“You do not need to break wishbones to bring me. All that is necessary
is just to _wish_, and here I am,” she announced.

“This time I want to tell you more about a story you all know very
well. It is called:

  AND PIPED THOSE CHILDREN BACK AGAIN.

“Don’t you love the Pied Piper story, and didn’t your heart almost stop
beating when the door in the mountain closed, shutting the children in?

“And though you were glad one mother had her dear little boy left
behind, no doubt your tears mingled with his as he limped alone down
the mountain path trying in vain to comfort himself with the fleeting
glimpse he had of that joyous country where the horses had wings and
the bees no stings; where the birds were brighter than peacocks here
and flowers of rare beauty grew in profusion.

“Can’t you just see his beautiful, upturned, angel face? How could
that great door close and leave _him_ on the wrong side!

“But let me tell you a splendid fact. Sometimes the things that seem
all wrong are the grandest things that ever happened, and true it is,
though it may seem hard to believe, this little fellow was really on
the right side of the door after all. And though he seemed shut out
from the glad times awaiting them in that blissful land, just because
of this he was able to ring the joy bells of the village with his own
hands because he was the only one there who could finally enter the
magic door and carry the message that brought the children to their own
again. And now I must tell you this beautiful thing that happened:

“After the little hamlet was bereft of her children the parents turned
sadly back to their homes, while the muffled tones of the Pied Piper
came no more to their ears.

“They could hardly believe it true. It must be a bad dream from which
they would soon awaken.

“Many times a day the thrifty housewives stepped to their doors and
listened in vain for the shrill baby voices to call to one another in
their play.

“The wooden soldiers stood straight and stiff at their guns at ‘Present
arms!’ waiting for the cry of ‘Attention!’ but no order was given—no
sound of fife or drum disturbed the silence.

“The Dutch-faced dollies sat in corners, smiling so sweetly, waiting
expectantly for their little mothers to rock them to sleep, but no
lullabys came to their ears.

“The parents gazed at the various toys till their eyes were dim with
tears and one night when the moon was big and round, and oh, so
silvery, the Mayor tossed sleeplessly on his bed. Presently he arose,
dressed, and crept out into the cool sweet night. His wife heard and
followed.

“When they reached the street they found it peopled with many parents,
waiting for they knew not what.

“The silvery light of the moon shed its glow upon the mountain, and as
they looked, suddenly the portal opened wide, disclosing an inside gate
of golden fretwork.

“Silently and slowly the portal swung back, and they whispered to one
another, ‘Was that the great door that shut the children in?’

“With bated breath they waited, and suddenly sweet strains of music
filled the air.

“‘The Pied Piper!’ cried the Mayor, with upraised hand.

“Never had they heard such notes, as clear and silvery as the moonbeams
themselves. Then came the sound of children’s voices, singing as
never children sang, and though it was sweet it was so sad they could
scarcely bear to listen, but it seemed to beckon them on.

“They hurried up the path taken by the children, and as they neared the
door the words of the song amazed them, and drew forth exclamations.

“‘Keep your promise and we can come back!’ was the burden of the song,
and the Mayor cried:

“‘Come! The Piper must be told we are ready and eager to give him what
we owe.’

“He led the way, but alas! they found the inside gate so small, only a
child could enter. They called many times, but the only response was
the sad little song of the children.

“‘They cannot hear us. What will we do?’ cried one mother on her knees
before the gate, trying in vain to push her way through.

“‘The lame boy, where is he?’ queried the Mayor in anguished tones.

“‘Fast asleep in his bed,’ replied his mother.

“‘Go quickly and bring him!’ cried the Mayor. ‘No one knows how soon
the Portal may swing shut.’

[Illustration: “The beauty of the scene almost overwhelmed him”]

“The father and mother hastened to the little home and to the crib
where the boy lay sleeping sweetly, bathed in the glow of the
silvery light.

“‘Come,’ whispered the mother. ‘Come.’

“The boy opened his eyes, sprang into his father’s arms, and they
hastened again up the mountain path.

“‘The door is open,’ he cried joyously. ‘Now I can have some one to
play with!’

“‘I hope so,’ breathed the mother. ‘Go in and find the Piper. Tell him
we beg of him to let us keep our promise. If he will only give us back
our children we will give him all we have!’

“The little fellow limped through the golden portal and could go no
farther, for the beauty of the scene almost overwhelmed him.

“Such flowers! Such trees, whose waving branches of tender green were
filled with the most beautifully coloured birds he ever saw. Such
shrubs, with glistening leaves fluttering timidly in the gentle
breeze. Here the moon shone with a light that was never on land or sea.

“The boy gazed in raptures at the marvellous picture, then glanced
keenly about for the Piper.

“Presently he saw him standing beneath an arched bower of twining
roses, but so sad did he seem the boy hesitated to approach him.

“He took one step, then paused amazed. What had happened? He took
another. Oh, joy of joys! He was lame no more! He dropped his crutch
and ran. Ran as he had dreamed of running—just as other children did.
Ran straight to the Piper.

“As the Piper clasped him in his arms, a heavenly smile lighted his
face, and he cried:

“‘At last they have heard the song. You can never know the joy you have
brought to me this day. It was my anger that closed the gate and when
it clanged to I said, “Never will I forgive them. Never.” Ever since,
the gate has been as though frozen shut. I knew why, but I wouldn’t
forgive.

“‘I did my best to make the children happy, but you see by their sad
song, I failed. Have you noticed them?’

“The boy looked and for the first time really saw his playmates.

“‘What pretty clothes they have!’ he exclaimed.

“‘Yes, the boys are clad in green and silver leaves. The girls’ gowns
are of flowers. Flowers such as grow only here. They may have a fresh
gown every day, or oftener.’

“‘Where are their homes?’ asked the boy.

“‘They live like the birds in the trees. Look!’

“The boy gazed in wonder up into the tree tops, to see many tiny bowers
woven of vines and flowers.

“‘Their beds are of rose petals, the wind rocks them to sleep, and the
birds carol their lullaby. The humming birds hover over them as they
dream. They drink honey with the bees. They eat luscious fruits such as
one dreams of but never sees. With all of this they are not happy. They
sigh for their dolls and soldiers, and weep for their parents.

“‘Lately I have felt my anger melting, and last night I suddenly knew
I had forgiven all, and that instant the portal swung open. Soon I
heard voices, but I could not move. Only a little child could break the
spell. I am so thankful you could not follow with the others since only
a child could pass through the golden gate to bring the message.’

“‘Oh!’ cried the boy in ecstasy. ‘See! I can walk! I can run! I am so
happy!’

“‘Yes,’ said the Piper, ‘I know. No one could be lame here now that the
gate is open. This is the land of harmony; but tell me, boy, why did
you come? Do tell me they sent you.’

“‘They did. They want to keep their promise.’

“‘They do? Will they give me the gold?’ he asked eagerly.

“‘Oh, yes, they want to. They beg of you to take it.’

“‘Then tell them when the mountain path is paved with guilders I will
bring the children.’

“The boy bounded away, but as he passed the children he was at once
swept into the ring and in some mysterious way he also was clad in
a garb of silvery leaves, while on his head was placed a crown of
wondrous beauty, a crown of flowers which breathed forth a rare
perfume.

“As they danced round and round, the song was no longer sad but rang
out like joyous bells, filling the air with showers of gladness, while
the Piper piped, and the birds twittered and trilled the gayest of
tunes.

“They danced nearer and nearer the portal, and presently saw without, a
sea of hungry faces and many outstretched arms.

“The boy shook himself loose and ran through the gate. With shining
eyes he cried:

“‘See! I can walk! I can run! And I have more good news, but you must
obey. Bring the gold quickly and you will soon have your children.’

“They rubbed their eyes and stared, then turned and ran down the
mountain. Ran faster than the rats ever dreamed of running. Soon they
came trooping up again each carrying a bag of gold.

“‘The Piper said when the path was paved with gold he would bring the
children. Quick! I will help!’ cried the boy.

“You should have seen them dropping the gold pieces in place, and in a
twinkling the bags were empty and the road was one glittering ribbon.

“The boy ran through the portal to the Piper, crying: ‘It is finished;
come.’

“The Piper hurried to the entrance, looked down the shining path,
paused, and waited. The silence was tense, while all gazed into his
face wonderingly.

“‘The road is not finished,’ he said gently. ‘Look for yourselves. Some
one has kept back gold that is still due. We will wait.’

“The Mayor flushed and knelt at his feet. ‘It was I. I couldn’t give
quite all. Forgive me and I will bring more than enough.’

“He strode down the path, soon to return carrying a leathern bag which
clanked as he walked. At the feet of the Piper he shook out the golden
circlets, which seemed bewitched as one after another rolled toward the
empty spaces, where they spun round and round like so many golden tops,
and finally settled into place. Those remaining piled themselves about
the Piper’s feet.

“The onlookers gazed in astonishment till suddenly they heard heavenly
music. At once they stood either side of the golden pathway, watching
the Piper followed by the children.

  “‘All the little boys and girls,
    With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
    Tripping and skipping ran merrily after
    The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.’

“On and on they went, their tiny feet treading silently the golden
ribbon.

“The parents, with tears of joy streaming o’er their faces, followed,
enraptured with the magic notes.

“Where the gleaming pathway ended the Piper paused, the parents
embraced their little ones, then knelt at the feet of the Piper.

“‘Arise!’ he cried in beseeching tones. ‘I, too, am guilty. We have
both made amends. Let us forget all wrongdoing and be happy. You have
emptied your coffers but you are richer than ever.

“‘I do not want the gold. Let it lie a glittering pathway to the land
of joy, where the children may dance and play to their hearts’ content.

“‘As long as we do right the Golden Portal will never close. Farewell.’

“With these words he turned and walked toward the mountain door. The
parents hurried to their homes, to find the boys ordering out the
wooden soldiers, and the dolls drowsily smiling into mother eyes and
listening to the far-away lullaby of the dear Pied Piper.”

As the Story Elf finished she again vanished, and during the silence
that followed the dolls thought they still heard the Piper’s far away
lullaby.

As it died away Allspice cried:

“How lovely to bring the children home again. I’m glad she told us
about it, for I always felt sorry for the parents and the dear little
lame boy all alone.

“I hope we can have her come again.”

“Perhaps we may, but now we must go on with _our_ stories.

“You know an old poem tells us little girls are made of sugar and spice
and all things nice. Therefore, since Sugar is classed so closely with
Spice, we might let that sweet lady talk to us for a while.”

MRS. SUGAR DOLL’S TALE

The fat Sugar Lady now came forward, and with a quick jerk of her
skirts, showing her slippered feet, made an old-fashioned courtesy.

[Illustration: “Sometimes it is gingerbread, or maybe plump brown
cookies”]

“Isn’t she dear!” cried one and another, as they gazed admiringly at
the quaint figure all dressed in white, which sparkled like frost on
the window pane. Dainty bunches of rosebuds adorned her bonnet, and
altogether she was a sweet picture.

“My dears,” she cried, well aware of the admiration she excited.

“I know I am sweet as well as you do, but lest I become over-proud I
will show you my real self growing, which really isn’t anything to look
at.”

As she talked she untied her bonnet strings and untwisted one of the
curls that bobbed about her snowy neck. The audience was startled to
hear a squeak like the dying gasp of a rubber balloon.

As the squeak lingeringly died away, Sugar grew thinner and taller, and
presently there she was turned into a long yellow sugar cane.

A shout of laughter greeted this transformation, as Sugar Cane made
an elaborate bow, beaming upon them as though delighted to see them.

“Allow me to make you acquainted with Mrs. Sugar’s better half,” he
said.

“Butter half, you mean,” shouted Vinegar.

“Throw in a little flour and a few eggs and we’ll have a birthday cake.”

“Which I would be delighted to do had I those useful ingredients.”

“Ingredients?” said Cinnamon, thinking hard. “Will Little Salt, who is
now peeping in the dictionary again, kindly let us know the meaning of
that word?”

“It means a part of something,” replied Salt, much dismayed that she
had again been caught studying the big book when she should have been
listening.

“Yes, a part of something; sugar, eggs and flour are a part of the
cake. Now let us hear about this queer tall yellow stick.”

“Very well, Sir. I come from a wild plant from India, Mexico, South
America, and most tropical countries. They are here, and here, and
here, and here,” and in the twinkling of an eye he had walked about the
globe and left his footprint in each place.

“I am also found in the red beet and yellow carrot. Perhaps it will be
hard to believe, but this yellow cane, which is as sweet as honey, is
placed between two large hard rollers until all the juice is squeezed
out.

“This juice is boiled down, and when thick is poured off.”

“Tut, tut, tut,” gurgled the Molasses Jug; “don’t step on my toes.”

“Don’t worry,” laughed Sugar Cane. “I’m not going to tell any more of
your story. I had to tell that much to get at what settles to the
bottom, which is my sweet wife.

“It is first brown sugar. That is purified by filtration, and when
clear white takes the various names of loaf sugar, lump sugar, and
refined sugar, according to the degree of purification.

“Refined sugar is the pulverised confectioners’ sugar and is used in
candies.

“Granulated sugar is made by stirring while the strong syrup
crystallises and forms small grains or crystals.

“While I know I am not very pretty, yet the children in the warm
countries love me dearly. They clamour for a piece of sugar cane to
suck, just as the children here beg for candy sticks. Some of the poor
little ones have nothing to eat all day long but a stick of sugar cane,
and nowhere to sleep but on a door step. They run around in bare feet
and with scarcely any clothes!”

“Here! Here!” came the smothered tones of Mrs. Sugar. “You have told
the whole story. I think you shouldn’t wind up by making everybody
weep. Blow yourself up and let me come forth once more, please.”

Then Sugar Cane began to dwindle as a gust of wind blew through his
pipes. Shorter and fatter he grew, till behold, there was dear Mrs.
Sugar, smiling down at them as she again tied her bonnet strings.

“I never did see such a man. So dismal as he grows sometimes. What if
the children do only have sugar cane all day. It’s good and makes them
fat, and a jollier lot I never saw. They love to go barefooted; and as
for clothes, who wants any where the weather is boiling hot all the
time?

“Don’t waste any tears on him any of you. Let’s hear from Molasses. She
will send your tears flying as high as a kite.”

At this summons the Molasses Jug now appeared. Her gown was a
beautiful shade of golden brown, with touches of sunshiny yellow here
and there. She really wasn’t a jug, but looked like one from the fact
that she kept her arm crooked up just like a jug handle.




TALE OF THE MOLASSES DOLL


“Well,” she said gaily. “Mr. Sugar pretty near told you my story, I
stopped him just in time. I come in just where the juice from the sugar
cane boils down thick. That was my own splendid self that was poured
off.

“I love the time when I gurgle down into a barrel, and fairly hug
myself when that barrel is in a grocery store waiting to be sold. I
always wonder what kind of a home I am going to, and what will be done
with me.

“I sit there in the dark, and presently the spigot in the barrel is
turned, and the thick stream gurgles into jugs. The jugs are placed in
a grocery wagon. The driver whistles a merry tune, and away we go into
so many homes.

“I make so many good things, and it is such fun guessing what I’m going
to be in each time. Sometimes it is gingerbread, or may be plump brown
cookies. Again, it is pudding with fat plums swelling up inside.

“Once a grand thing happened. It was the day before Christmas. The
driver was hurrying the horse along at the very edge of town.

“Suddenly something startled the horse, and he ran away. The wagon
overturned. Everything was thrown about in the snow. My jug broke and
I began to run out all over. I had good company though, for popcorn,
cranberries, and all sorts of things were scattered about me.

“The grocery boy gathered up most of the stuff and away he went. I was
hopeless, and thought what a miserable Christmas I was to have. No
good to anybody. Suddenly I pricked up my ears. Children were crying,
and I heard one say:

“‘Can’t have any Christmas at all. Not a speck of anything. No money to
buy anything with!’

“A group of them were trudging through the snow from school. When they
saw me one said: ‘What’s that?’

“Wasn’t I glad I was molasses. Most anything else would have been of
no use at such a time. I could hardly keep still when I saw one after
another poke a finger into the brown mass and taste.

“‘Molasses!’ they cried in one breath.

“With a whoop of delight they ran into a nearby home, and came back
with a pail and cups. The snow had a glassy crust and I hadn’t sunken
in at all. So all they had to do was to scoop, and there I was. They
scooped and scraped till they had a good pail full.

“I saw a few ears of popcorn that had lodged down in a little hollow,
so I let a small stream run after them. The children spied them, and
such a shout went up as you never heard! Luckily the snow was fresh
fallen and clean, so they really had made quite a find.

“We were hurried into the house, and when the mother and father came
home from their work, looking sad enough because they could not give
the children any Christmas, they were greeted with the cries of ‘Merry
Christmas! Merry Christmas!’

“It would have done your hearts good to have seen that candy pull, and
the popcorn balls were the finest ever made. They had a perfectly good
Christmas that didn’t cost a cent.

“So I think molasses is quite important in this world even if it is
cheap.”

Molasses sat down amid a round of applause.

“What a nice story! I wish some one would tell another,” murmured
little Allspice, whose earnest blue eyes and clasped hands showed how
she had loved the story.

“A splendid idea! The night is slowly passing; perhaps some of us
may think up some interesting stories; incidents we have seen in our
various home lands.




TALE OF THE VINEGAR KING


“Now let’s hear from the Vinegar King. We have had much sweet, perhaps
we would like a little sour for a change.”

His Majesty was tall and thin, dressed in velvet knee breeches and
fancy coat with silver trimmings. His cockade hat looked as though he
really did belong to royalty, but so sour an expression did he wear you
could tell at once that he stood for nothing sweet.

[Illustration: “Suddenly something startled the horse, and he ran
away”]

“Ladies and Gentlemen: I am happy—”

“Happy—you?” queried the audience in gales of laughter.

“I didn’t mean to say I was happy. I started to say I am happy to
inform you that in wine countries I come from fermented poor wines,
elsewhere from malt or apple cider.”

With that he sat down.

“Here! Here! Is that all you have to tell us?” cried Cinnamon Stick.

“All! It is much more than Molasses had to say.”

“You have talked for twenty seconds. Molasses entertained us for many
minutes!”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman, but if you simmer down what Molasses told you of
her history, it will take three seconds by the clock to say it. It was
this: ‘I am the juice from the sugar cane boiled down and gurgled into
a barrel!’”

Vinegar tried so hard to imitate Molasses, even to the sweet
expression, he sat down amid roars of laughter.

Molasses now hopped up in the greatest haste, crying:

“So I did gurgle into a barrel, and into a jug, too. It was all there
was to tell. Sugar Cane had to tell the beginning of me because we came
from the same thing. It was why I told the story, and dear knows it was
a sweet story.”

“The gentleman with silver trimmed knee breeches will kindly tell us
something further of himself,” said Cinnamon Stick in bland tones.
“What are you good for?”

“I am used for soothing remedies in the pharmacies.”

“Soothing!” laughed Salt and Pepper. “I hope you have your picture on
the outside of the bottles.”

“I do. They especially asked for it. I am good for many things besides
medicine. Sour pickles could never be made without me, and as for peach
pickles, you might have all the cloves and cinnamon in the world in
them, would they be at all if it were not for me? As for my looks, I
can’t help them. We all have to look like we are, and even though I
look and seem sour, at heart I am sweet because really I have to have
sugar to make the mother.”

“Mother!” cried bashful Allspice. “Have you really a dear mother?”

“Oh, my dear, not that kind of a mother. It is just some thick stringy
stuff that grows in Vinegar as it ferments and makes it ferment
quicker. It is just called mother.

“That is all I know about me. Thank you for your kind attention.”

“You are very welcome,” said Cinnamon Stick. “You really did very well
after all.

TALE OF THE CITRON DOLL


“Now let’s hear from Miss Citron. She sounds very sweet and good.”

“And I am sweet and good, too,” said the doll with the large green
head, gorgeously gowned in purple.

“I grow in Spain.” Here she sat down on the top of the globe and rolled
over and over till she reached that spot where she was to be found,
then rose and continued:

“My tree has an upright smooth trunk with a branchy head rising from
five to fifteen feet, adorned with large oval spear-shaped leaves. See,
my hat is made of one. Isn’t it _chic_?” and she placed the odd hat on
her head and paraded about for a moment.

“Don’t mistake me for a Pathé Moving Picture fashion show, please, for
I never aspired to anything higher than fruit cake and pastries.

“My fruit is different from the lemon in that it has no knob at the top
and the rind is much thicker. My tree has purple blossoms that are
white inside. The seeds of the fruit are bitter. After they are taken
out I am cut in half and dried in sugar and make a delicious confection.

“I am sorry my story is short, but that is really all there is to tell.”

“Very good, indeed, and now we will hear from the ballet girls, Orange
and Lemon, who seem in a flutter to tell their tales,” announced Mr.
Cinnamon Stick.

The Orange and Lemon Dolls now came forward, and after a sweeping bow
danced like fairies about the hearth, their orange and yellow skirts
fluffing about their tiny feet.

“Opera glasses! Opera glasses!” shouted one.

“All music and words of the opera here,” sang another.

“Standing room only,” cried another.




TALES OF THE ORANGE AND LEMON DOLLS


Mr. Cinnamon Stick bade them be quiet, and Orange began her story.

“We come from about the same parts of the world; watch and you will see
where.”

The eyes of the audience followed the pair as they heeled and toed
over the globe, touching daintily Italy, Spain, Portugal, Florida, and
California.

“The California orange is liked best because it has no seeds. It is a
deep orange colour with a thick skin.

“The Florida orange is a shade lighter and has a thinner skin.

“We also grow in Mexico—here—but the Mexican orange cannot be shipped
because it will not keep. It is sweet and delicious, however, and much
loved by the natives.

“One wonderful thing about the orange tree is that at the same time, on
the same tree, you will find the buds, blossoms, the green and ripe
fruit, because they grow slowly. Also the grape fruit is sometimes
grafted on our trees. There are oranges that will hang on the trees for
two years, so they can be picked at any time, which is most convenient.

“The trees stand about twenty-three feet apart and must not be chilled
for it hurts the buds. When a cold snap comes, the owners build fires
here and there in the orange groves and keep them all snug and warm.
They must watch the weather reports very closely, as in a short time
the cold might ruin the orange crop.

“One thousand oranges have been taken from one tree. When the tree is
no longer fruitful, its hard, fine-grained, yellowish wood is valued
for inlaid work.

“The orange was first found in India, then spread to Western Asia,
Spain, Italy, and is now grown in all tropical lands.

“Now, Lemon may tell us about herself, as that is all I know.”

“I also am from Spain, and all those countries we touched,” said the
Lemon Doll.

“I grew on a tree with three thousand in the family.

“We are picked green because then we keep better and the skins are
thinner. If we are left in our tree house until grown to full size our
skins are thick, and we are sent to England, where we are sugared and
dried and named sugared lemon peel.

“We don’t sound like much, but when you see us in heaps and piles in
the groceries, and see the lot of money we bring in to the owners, you
find we are quite worth while, for we are shipped all over the world,
and wherever you are you will usually find us on the table, if you find
no other fruit.”

“Right you are, my dears. You are both a most important food, and we
are glad we met up with you,” cried Cinnamon Stick.

“And now _I’m_ going to wish again for the Story Sprite. I want a
Christmas story.”

“Oh, joy!” exclaimed the audience, rapturously beaming upon the Story
Sprite, who sprang from the back log at the magic word “wish,” singing
gaily:

“And a Christmas story you shall have. Here is my favourite one. It is
called




ANNA BELLE’S CHRISTMAS EVE.


“Anna Belle had had a very exciting day, and now, curled up on the
window seat, her head pillowed on downy cushions, she sat watching the
sleighs flying by.

“It was a glorious night. The moon shed its silvery glow on the busy
scene, and Anna Belle drowsily noted the people passing with arms
filled and pockets bulging.

“‘I wish I could see what’s in those packages,’ she murmured. ‘I think
Christmas is queer anyhow.’

“‘Why?’ came in tinkling tones to her ears.

“Anna Belle jumped, for there beside her was a beautiful fairy, holding
on high a silver wand, on the end of which gleamed a star.

“‘Why?’ persisted the fairy creature, determined to have an explanation
of such a statement.

“‘Well, I ask for a lot of things I never get, and I get a lot of
things I don’t want.’

“‘You do?’ said the Fairy inquiringly.

“‘Yes, every year I do. In the attic are boxes and boxes of things I
didn’t care at all for. Somehow I’m never very happy at Christmas time.’

“‘Are you _giving_ any presents this year?’

“‘Oh, yes, Papa always gives me money to buy them, but I didn’t spend
it all. I’ve asked for a bracelet, and if I don’t get it I’m going to
buy one with what I have left.’

“The fairy glanced about the beautiful room, where seemed to be
everything to make one happy, then she gently asked:

“‘Are the gifts you bought gifts you feel sure are wanted by those who
will receive them?’

“Anna Belle flushed as she tossed her curls and replied:

“‘Perhaps not. Papa always says, “You can’t get something for nothing,”
and you see I didn’t want to spend all my money.’

“‘Did you have a happy time buying these gifts?’

“‘Well, no. Do you think any one is very happy at Christmas time?’

“‘That depends. Some are very, very happy.’

“‘Yes, I know. People with bushels of gifts are, especially if they
are really what they want.’

“‘Oh,’ laughed the Fairy. ‘I know people who have scarcely any money to
buy presents and yet are having a lovely Christmas with presents made
out of nothing. People who are as poor as crows, and yet are bubbling
over with joy this very night.’

“Anna Belle opened her eyes very wide at this statement.

“‘Making a Christmas out of nothing, and as poor as crows!’ she echoed.
‘Just how poor is that? I’d like to see them.’

“‘You would? Come with me then,’ and after a wave of the silvery wand
Anna Belle found herself floating along in mid air like a bird.

“‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘What fun! I wish I could always be a fairy!’

[Illustration: “She was making dolls from bottles”]

“‘If you wish it hard enough you may be. Now follow me very closely for
we aren’t the only fairies abroad Christmas Eve. The air is full of
them.’

“Anna Belle looked about her, and sure enough, it was almost like
June bug season. She felt them whizzing past her, and at times their
whirring wings fairly brushed her cheeks.

“‘Oh, how lovely it is!’ she exclaimed. ‘How different it all looks
from above!’

“‘Yes, dear, everything looks different from above. Do you see that wee
brown house far over in that meadow, all alone?’

“‘Yes,’ replied Anna Belle; ‘are they poor as crows?’

“‘Poorer, they haven’t even any feathers,’ laughed the Fairy, as they
gently floated down, down, till they could peer into a window of the
little house.

“A mother sat by a table sewing. Anna Belle watched to see that she was
making dolls from bottles.

“She fashioned heads by placing a wad of cotton in a piece of muslin.
Giving the cloth a twist, she had a perfect round ball which she shaped
and tied down over a cork. On this she skilfully painted a face, then
tied a trim little bonnet about it, and behold, there was a smiling bit
of a creature awaiting the next move.

“She then made petticoat, dress and coat, and stood it in a corner
while she made another. As she worked she smiled so sweetly the whole
room seemed aglow.

“‘Come and see who will have these gifts,’ whispered the Fairy.

“Anna Belle followed and peeped in another window. There she saw a
number of little children all snuggled up fast asleep.

“‘Look!’ whispered the Fairy, and pointed to a stand where were a few
gifts. A pin-cushion made of bits of ribbon from a scrap bag, and a
workbox made from a cigar box. This was a work of art indeed. Pockets
had been tacked inside, and on the bottom of the box lay a spool of
thread.

“‘Looks lonesome, doesn’t it?’ whispered the Fairy.

“Anna Belle nodded as she thought of her own beautiful workbox of
carved ivory with gold thimble and all sorts of beautiful fittings.

“Then she remembered another laid away in the attic, one of the things
she didn’t want.

“These two crude gifts were marked in childish hand, ‘For Mother with
much love.’

“‘Love is sticking out all over those things,’ said the Fairy. ‘Come
down and see how she is getting on with her bottle family.’

“They went below, to find the dolls nearly finished, and a fine
ready-made family it was.

“Father, mother, children, and even a weenty teenty pill bottle doll,
dressed as a baby in long clothes, was pinned to the mother, the tiny
head nestled close to the spot where her heart should be.

“‘They are lovely!’ declared Anna Belle.

“‘They are, indeed, and they can do what many of the finest dolls you
buy cannot. They can stand and you can have great fun with them.’

“‘I’m going to make some,’ said Anna Belle. ‘I think they are cute.
What is she doing now?’

“‘Why, don’t you see? Some one has given her a branch from a Christmas
tree. She is fastening the dolls to it. Now she’s poking the coals,
she’s going to pop corn and string it for the tree. That cost one
penny. She’s also going to make molasses candy. See it bubbling in that
kettle? Molasses is very cheap and it will be the only candy they will
have, but they will be wild over it, just because only at Christmas
time they have it.

“‘Now come and I’ll show you crow number two.’

“Anna Belle was loath to leave this interesting window, but she
obediently followed on.

“‘Look in here,’ whispered the Fairy, as they paused by another humble
home.

“Anna Belle looked, to see an empty stocking swinging from the mantel.
On it was pinned a paper, and Anna Belle read the large printed words:

  “Dear Santa Claus—If you have enough things to go round
  won’t you give my sister a music box and a readin’ buck.
  She’s lame and can’t play like me. You needn’t give me
  anything. I can hear the music and read her’s.

  “JAMIE.”

“Anna Belle’s eyes filled as she read, and followed the Fairy to see
two children fast asleep, dreaming of what they hoped they might find
in the morning.

“‘They have no mother. The father isn’t much good, but does his best
to feed them. In the morning those stockings will be as empty as they
are now.’

“‘Dear! Dear! Why doesn’t some one know about it?’ asked Anna Belle
tearfully.

“‘Some one does know now,’ replied the Fairy with a wise nod as they
floated on.

“‘I hope they’ll do something then,’ said Anna Belle.

“‘I hope so,’ whispered the Fairy. ‘Look in here,’ and Anna Belle
peered in a window.

“Here a child of perhaps twelve or fourteen was seated at a table,
working busily. Anna Belle watched to see her making paper dolls. She
cut them out, painted faces and hair, then made a number of cunning
dresses, coats and hats, placed them in envelopes and marked the
outside.

“They watched till she had three ready, then slipped them into the
stockings, hanging waiting.

“The love light in her eyes was sweet to behold and as she stood over
the lamp to put it out, Anna Belle noticed the rare delicate beauty of
her face.

“When all was dark the Fairy moved on.

“‘She didn’t even hang up her own stocking,’ said Anna Belle.

“‘No one to fill it. She mothers those three little ones, and it’s
all she can do to make things go, but did you ever see any one look
happier? See the card on this door knob?’

“Anna Belle paused to read:

  “Dear Santa—Please bring me a sleeping doll. Even if
  you can’t spare one, if you would just let me hold one a
  moment and sing it to sleep once I will be glad. I am a
  good girl.

  “ELSIE.”

“‘See her! Isn’t she dear?’ cried Anna Belle, as she peeped in the
window to see a beautiful plump little girl fast asleep.

“‘She looks like a sleeping doll herself. Will she get the doll, do you
think?’

“‘I hope so. It all depends,’ said the Fairy.

“They floated along for some time, and presently went down to hover
over some children looking in the window of a toy store.

“Wistful little faces they had, and their clothes told Anna Belle they
must get their fun out of just looking.

“Farther on in front of the candy store huddled a shabby crowd, gazing
at the sparkling goodies.

“‘Come away, please, I don’t want to see any more. Surely they aren’t
happy,’ cried Anna Belle.

“‘They are as happy as they can be. Each one of them had a penny in a
tightly closed fist, wondering what to buy to take home and put in an
empty stocking.

“‘Let’s stop here a moment,’ whispered the Fairy, poising on the top
of a Christmas tree in front of a big store.

“Anna Belle, standing beside her, noticed that as she held on high her
wand the star shone out so bright and beautiful the people below paused
and gazed in wonder. The happy faces beamed even brighter and the
unhappy ones changed instantly.

“‘What does it mean?’ whispered one and another, while one little girl
cried:

“‘Why, Mother, it’s _the_ Star. Don’t you know?’

“‘Yes,’ whispered the mother, clasping more closely the little hand and
passing on.

“‘What made the cross ones look so glad, and the happy ones look more
so?’ asked Anna Belle, as she watched the throngs below.

“‘Don’t you know really?’ asked the Fairy.

“Anna Belle pondered a while, then looked at the sky to see it thickly
dotted with stars, and saw that One shone more brightly than any of the
others. She then turned to look at the star on the end of the wand, but
behold, it had vanished.

“‘Where is it?’ she asked in surprise.

“‘It came down and did its work and then went back where it belongs,’
replied the Fairy with a roguish twinkle, and Anna Belle stared for a
moment at the splendid bright star, then said softly:

“‘I understand it now, and why it could do it, but I had forgotten what
Christmas really means.

“‘For a long time it has seemed to mean only things. Gifts, and not
only gifts, but certain kinds of gifts.

“‘Oh!’ she said wistfully, ‘I wish I could do something to help. Was
that what you meant when you kept saying, “That depends”?’

“‘That was just what I meant. Now you have seen the Star, and I know
all will be well.’

“Anna Belle seemed busily thinking, and the Fairy waited.

“‘The-attic is full of presents I didn’t want, and I have a lot of
money I was going to use for the bracelet.’

“‘_If_ you didn’t get it,’ laughed the Fairy.

“‘I don’t want it now. I’d rather use it for these poor little
children. Elsie must have a doll. I have one, and a music box, and many
“Readin’” books with pictures, but how can we get them to the places?’

“‘Fairies are stronger than you think. I will summon my helpers.’

“Anna Belle then heard a sound as of wind whistling around the corners.
In a moment there appeared fairies without number. Such silvery sprites
they were Anna Belle longed to take one to her heart and keep for ever
and ever.

“‘Come!’ cried the Fairy, who seemed to be the leader.

“As she floated away all followed, and Anna Belle found they were
headed straight for her own home and the attic.

“As she wondered how they would get in, she found herself flying easily
through the tiny bird window high up in the tower.

“‘How lovely!’ she cried. ‘I never knew it was for fairies!’

“‘Show what we are to take,’ cried the Fairy. ‘We must hurry.’

“Anna Belle pointed out a music box, books, dishes, balls, skates.
In fact, toys of every description. Then she opened one large box to
find a beautiful doll with eyes closed in slumber. ‘For Elsie,’ she
whispered, and watched to see each fairy gather up a gift and press
close to its shining bosom.

[Illustration: “‘Show what we are to take,’ cried the Fairy. ‘We must
hurry’”]

“‘Are we really going to take them?’ she asked.

“‘We wouldn’t miss the joy of it for anything,’ replied her fairy
friend.

“They floated away; Anna Belle holding to her heart the sleeping doll.
She tried to recall why she hadn’t wanted it, for it was so pretty.
Then she flushed, for she remembered that she had been cross over this
very doll because she had asked for a brown-eyed doll and this one had
blue eyes!

“‘I didn’t deserve any doll, nor anything,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know I
was so bad.’

“‘Forget it!’ laughed the Fairy. ‘We can’t afford to be thinking over
our wrong-doings. If we have started on the right track we will have
enough to do to keep within it.

“‘Here is the candy store. I know you want some. Give me your money;
I’ll get it for you. I know the man well. He’ll double what he gives
me, for he well knows what I’ll do with it.’

“In some mysterious way Anna Belle found in a moment each one was
carrying a basket of bonbons on a tiny arm as they floated on.

“‘Here is Elsie,’ whispered the Fairy presently.

“Anna Belle placed the doll in Elsie’s arms, then filled the stockings
with other toys and sweets. In the toe she placed a shining gold piece.

“The music box, books, and other toys were left in the home of the lame
child; also a gold piece shone in the toe of each stocking hanging
there.

“The paper doll girl was generously remembered, and the bottle dolls
smiled gratefully at the load of gifts left at their feet.

“Anna Belle’s eyes shone as she thought of the joy this Christmas was
to bring to so many hearts.

“‘How many?’ asked the Fairy, who seemed to know what she was thinking.

“Anna Belle pondered as they floated homeward. Presently she cried:
‘Why, just think, it’s twenty-four!’

“‘Only twenty-four? I counted twenty-five.’

“Again Anna Belle went over them, then said: ‘I can’t remember the odd
one.’

“The Fairy sent forth a bubbling, rippling laugh, which puzzled Anna
Belle for a moment, then she twinkled and cried:

“‘Why, I’m the odd one. I never was so happy. When did it begin? Oh, I
know; it was when I saw the Star, wasn’t it?’

“‘Yes, indeed,’ replied the Fairy, ‘and not only when you saw the Star,
but when you remembered the meaning of it.

“‘The love that came in with the Christ Child and His spirit of loving
and giving, not only of gifts but of Himself, has come down with the
ages, and will go on and on.’

“‘I’m so glad I found it out. I really don’t care now whether I get
the bracelet, or not,’ declared Anna Belle, as they floated into her
bedroom window.

“‘No, but see!’ and the Fairy pointed with her wand, on the end of
which Anna Belle again saw the shining Star sending a glow of light
over her dresser, and there lying on its velvet bed she beheld a
beautiful circlet of dull gold.

“Much excited, she whispered: ‘Is it plain? I really wanted it
jewelled.’ Then she laughed and added: ‘No, I don’t care how it is.
Just so it’s a bracelet, for I’m afraid I do kind of want it. Is it
wrong to want it? If it is, I’ll try till I don’t.’

The Fairy gently caressed her, then touched the golden circlet with
her wand.

“‘No, it isn’t wrong to want it now that you remember the true meaning
of Christmas, and want to keep it with the true Christmas spirit. See!’

“Anna Belle looked to see a starry jewel embedded in the gold, then she
noticed the Star had vanished from the wand.

“She looked quickly out at the sky, where the steady light of the Star
shone straight into her eyes.

“‘I’m glad you didn’t take that Star,’ she whispered. ‘We couldn’t get
along without it.’

“‘My, no. I couldn’t take that Star. That’s the Star of Bethlehem, you
know. This is just a weenty teenty shadow of that Star, that’s why it
isn’t quite so bright.’

“‘It’s bright enough for me, and means a lot. How can I ever thank you
for this night’s work?’ asked Anna Belle.

“‘Never again lose sight of the Star and I will be more than repaid.
Good-bye.’

“Anna Belle watched her out of sight, then turned and—dear me! she
opened her eyes; the sleighs were still flying past, for she could hear
the bells ringing so merrily.

“‘How much sweeter they sound,’ she cried. ‘They seem to be saying,
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” I wonder why I didn’t notice it
before.’

“She ran down-stairs to find Mother busily wrapping packages. She
looked at Anna Belle and cried:

“‘Why, child, what makes your eyes so bright, and why do you look so
glad? I heard you saying all sorts of things as you slept.’

“‘Oh, Mother! If you only knew,’ and thereupon she told the whole
story of her dream, omitting the part about the bracelet. When she had
finished she drew her mother to the window, where together they gazed
at the Star.

“Mother’s eyes were full of tears, as she said gently, ‘Ring the bell,
dear.’

“The maid appeared, and Mother asked that John bring out the double
sleigh at once, adding:

“‘Then come to me; bring Annie also. We have work to do.’

“Wonderingly the maids followed to the attic and brought down many
boxes lying there, waiting for they knew not what.

“‘Help me to tie them up separately in white tissue paper. Use the
prettiest ribbons.’

“They worked busily, and soon a more Christmasy lot of bundles it would
be hard to find.

“They placed them in baskets, together with warm clothes, beautiful
dresses of Anna Belle’s that were hardly worn.

“Presently Anna Belle, Mother, and the baskets were packed in the big
sleigh, dashing down the street.

“One stop they made, at the candy store, then on they went.

“‘Do you think you can find Elsie, and the little lame girl, and the
house where the bottle dolls are?’

“‘I’m sure I can,’ replied Mother. ‘I happen to know them all.’

“And find them they did, and many others who were not in the dream.

“‘Oh, Mother! isn’t it sweet to do?’ cried Anna Belle, her bright eyes
shining up at the Star.

“‘It is, indeed, dear. I’m very glad you had the dream, for I fear I
also was forgetting the real meaning of Christmas and almost entirely
losing sight of the Star.’

“She held the child close till the joy ride was over, then kissed her,
saying:

“‘I don’t know when I have been so happy!’

“‘Nor I, Mother dear; and we owe it all to the Good Fairy.’

“‘We do, indeed. May she never cease to wave her starry wand. Good
night, my child, good night.’

“Soon Anna Belle slept, and as she slept the starlight beamed on her
sweet face, and presently it shone also on a golden circlet lying on
its velvet pillow on the dresser.

“The dream seemed really coming true, for there embedded in the gold
gleamed a starry jewel.

“When Anna Belle found it the next morning, she ran to Mother’s room
crying earnestly:

“‘Mother, _do_ you think the Fairy left it?’

“‘No doubt,’ replied Mother with twinkling eyes, ‘at least she must
have touched it with her wand, for you see she has left her messenger:

  “‘and the Star is shining.’”

The story ended, the Sprite vanished, and in her place the light of a
beautiful star shed a halo about the little heads.

The tiny creatures sat spellbound, dreaming again with Anna Belle, till
they were suddenly awakened by Cinnamon Stick who cried:

“Well! Well! Wasn’t that a grand Christmas story! I almost felt as
though we too were flying fairies playing Santa Claus, but since we are
just plain mince pie elves playing school we better go on with our game.

TALES OF THE SALT AND PEPPER TWINS

“Now I am most anxious to hear from the black and white pair of twins.
Allow me to introduce Salt and Pepper, both of whom seem very necessary
in this world of ours.”

[Illustration: “I am used very extensively as an April Fool”]

Salt and Pepper now teetered forward. A cute little pair, indeed. Salt,
all robed in frosty white, first began, and saucily cried out her big
name of Sodium Chloride.

“I haven’t much to say except that I look so like sugar you can hardly
tell which is which. For that reason I am used very extensively as an
April Fool and am most popular on that day.

“I come principally from the United States, of which you all know
without my showing you; from Michigan, New York, Ohio, Louisiana, West
Virginia, California, Kansas, and Utah.

“Michigan and New York gave in 1888 about three quarters of all the
salt produced in the United States.

“The salt of California is made by evaporation of sea water. That of
Utah from water of Great Salt Lake.

“That found in Louisiana and Kansas comes by mining rock salt.

“I’ll give you a riddle. What is it that has to be in most everything
we eat, or else it isn’t good? I’ll answer because you couldn’t
possibly guess. It’s salt.

“You could hardly enjoy a meal without me. What would a table be
without the salt box? And as for birthday parties, they just couldn’t
have them if I vanished from the earth.”

“‘Tisn’t true,” cried Orange. “A party I was at once was almost ruined
because of you. You worked into the ice cream, and what’s a party
without ice cream? No one could eat it and the children cried!”

“That’s true,” said Salt. “I forgot to tell you that while a little of
me is most necessary, too much of a good thing is worse than nothing.

“Now my twin brother will tell you of himself.”

Black Pepper, dressed in a black velvet suit and cap, politely bowed as
he removed his hat.

“Kechoo! Kechoo!” sneezed the audience.

“Put your cap on quickly,” whispered Salt; “don’t you see you are
making them sneeze?”

“Oh, pardon me!” apologised Pepper. “I didn’t think that politeness
would cause such distress. My story is very short.

“I come from all damp tropical countries, and my tree is a joy to
behold, when hanging full of scarlet berries against the background of
green leaves. The spikes are gathered when the berries begin to turn
red. The berries are rubbed off and dried and form then the ordinary
black pepper.

“The white pepper consists of the seeds of the same fruit allowed to
ripen and deprived of their pulp. The white pepper finds its largest
market in China, which is right here.

“There is a plant of the genus Capsicum. From those pods come Cayenne
or red pepper.

“That’s all,” he cried, with a funny quick bow.

“Your stories are short, but you are both about as necessary an article
of food as I know of,” said Mr. Cinnamon Stick, “and now let us hear
from this apple-cheeked maid, all about her lovely fruit, the Apple.”

TALE OF THE APPLE DOLL

The Apple-faced Doll tripped forward in the greatest of haste.

“I shall sit while I talk,” she said, seating herself and smoothing out
her snowy apron. “I have a long story to tell which, I am sure, you
will all love.”

“A story! A story!” rippled through the audience, as the dolls crept
close to the speaker, and with clasped hands awaited this treat.

Little Allspice placed herself in the rosy-cheeked maiden’s lap, and a
pretty picture it was to see her upturned face in the golden gleam of
the dancing flames.

“Well,” began the maid with the jolly smile, “the apple is to be found
most everywhere in mild climates. It first came from Avella, a town in
Campania, right there.” As she spoke she pointed with a long pointer
standing near by, to a place in Italy.

“It was introduced into America from England in 1629 by the Governor of
Massachusetts Bay.

“There are many varieties of apples, sweet and sour, hard and soft,
eating and cooking apples.

“The cider in the mincemeat is made from the juice of the apples. They
are crushed in a cider mill and the juice is strained. Some apples
would delight a child’s heart with their beautiful colours of gold and
crimson, and some grow to an enormous size.




THE STORY OF JOHNNY APPLESEED


“And now for the story:

“Once there was a man who was very, very poor. He had been a farmer and
no one raised such fine crops as did he. By and by, in some way, he
lost his farm and was left all alone.

“He had always wanted to do some grand thing, something that would make
many people happy, but what could he do? He had no money. All he had
was a small boat.

“As he trudged along one day he saw some old sacks lying under a tree.
As he looked at them he had a splendid thought. A thought that seemed
to have wings and came flying from far away. Oh, it was a beautiful
thought, and seemed to be singing a little song in his heart as he
picked up the sacks and placed them in his boat, jumped in himself and
floated away.

“As he rowed down the stream the man watched the shore with keen eyes.
When he saw an apple orchard he rowed to land, tied his boat, hastened
to the homes near the orchards and asked for work.

“He cut wood, carried water, and did all sorts of odd chores. In
payment for this work he asked for food, and what else do you suppose?

“The people were so surprised at what he asked for they could hardly
believe him. He asked that he might have the seeds from the apples on
the ground under the trees—only the seeds.

“Of course they gladly gave him such a simple thing, and as he cut the
fruit the neighbour children swarmed about him.

“From one place to another he went, always adding to his store of seeds.

“Some generous farmers gave him also cuttings of peach, pear, and plum
trees, and grape vines.

“Day after day, day after day, he cut up the fruit, while the children
sat at his feet and listened to thrilling tales of what he had seen in
his travels. Of the Indians with their gay blankets and feathers, of
their camps where they lived in the forests.

“Of their dances and war paint; their many coloured, beaded necklaces
and jingling, silver chains and bracelets. Of their beady-eyed babies
strapped to boards.

“Of the wolves which came out at night to watch him as he sat by his
fire; of the beautiful deer who ran across his path.

“He sang funny songs for the children and taught them all sorts of
games.

[Illustration: “The children sat at his feet and listened to thrilling
tales”]

“When it came time to go on, they begged him to stay. Never before
had they been so amused, but on he went, and when his bags were full,
and he had a goodly store of food, he started on to carry out the
splendid thought. Oh, it was a grand thing he was going to do.

“The little boat went on and on, till houses were no more to be seen.
Splendid forests lined the banks here and there. Then he paused, for
this was what he was seeking—a place where no one lived.

“He landed and went about with a bag of seeds, and when he reached an
open place in a forest he planted seeds and cuttings of the trees and
vines; then wove a brush fence about them to keep the deer away. He
then hastened back to his boat and drifted on.

“In many, many places he landed and planted seeds, and all the orchards
of the Ohio and Mississippi Valley we owe to this man.

“Years after when settlers came looking for a place to live they chose
these spots where, to their great surprise, they found all sorts of
trees loaded with fruit.

“This man’s name was John Chapman, but he was nicknamed Johnny
Appleseed.

“The settlers were glad indeed when he appeared and told them the
orchards were the fruit of his labours, and they were all eager to
entertain him.

“And so he ended his life in this land of fruit and plenty.

“I must tell you a story of one certain little tree.

“In one of the houses of the settlement where Johnny Appleseed loved to
stay there lived a dear little boy, just a wee toddler, named Jack.

“Dearly did the child love to follow the old man about as he worked,
for Johnny Appleseed’s work was by no means finished when the trees
were bearing fruit.

“Those trees had to be pruned; that meant all the dead branches had to
be cut off. In the spring the blossoms had to be sprayed to keep the
bugs out of the cores of the fruit; the trunk had to be watched to see
that it was not marred in any way, as a small gash might mean the loss
of the tree in time.

“One day Johnny, with little Jack, went to the village post office, and
there found a letter and a package.

“It was the child’s birthday, and he was most interested in the small
parcel thinking it might be for him.

“‘Jack,’ cried Johnny after reading the letter, ‘what do you s’pose
is in it? Look!’ and he disclosed a mass of brown glossy seeds. ‘The
letter says they are from a wonderful new kind of apple. How would you
like an apple tree all your own for a birthday present?’

“‘Yeth,’ lisped Jack, ‘an apple tree all my own.’

“‘Then let’s pretend you are another Johnny Appleseed, starting an
orchard. Bring your cart.’

“Jack’s eyes shone at the word ‘pretend,’ for he dearly loved it, and
soon came drawing the little red cart, in which Johnny placed the
package of seeds.

“‘Now we’ll go and get a lunch,’ said the old man as they walked to the
kitchen door.

“Jack rapped on the door, and Mother appeared.

“‘If you please, Marm,’ said Johnny, ‘we are going on an expedition. We
have a birthday and we want to celebrate it, for we have a wonderful
gift. Some seeds which when planted will bring forth a very unusual
apple tree. May we have a lunch for this journey?’

“Mother’s eyes twinkled as she hastily placed in a small basket
sandwiches and gingerbread.

“Johnny thanked her and away they went. After what seemed quite a walk
for the small sturdy legs they halted in a grassy nook beside the brook.

“‘Here,’ said the old man, ‘is a grand place for your apple tree to
grow.’ And together they bored a hole in the rich earth.

“Jack knelt down and from his chubby hands dropped the beautiful brown
seeds. Then he kissed his tiny palm and waved it over the hole as he
cried:

“‘Good night, little seeds. Send me a little tree by and by when you
wake up. I’ll be waiting for it and will take good care of it.’

“They covered the seeds with the dark rich loam, then ate their lunch.
Presently Jack was thirsty, and the old man fashioned a cup from a
broad leaf and filled it at a near-by spring. Jack drank, and the
little seeds also drank.

“Then the old man built a picket fence about the spot so no harm could
come to it. As this was finished the bell on the corn barn told them
dinner was ready.

“‘Mudder,’ cried Jack, bursting in to the house, ‘we planted the seeds
and the tree will be my own. Isn’t that fine?’

“‘Fine, indeed! I never heard of a better birthday present. It will
last for years and years, and think of the fruit it will bear!’

“As the child ate he dreamed of the tree as it would be some day; full
of rosy apples, and he was very proud of that magic spot beside the
brook.

“Each day he ran out to look at it, and one morning he found the
ground above the seeds humped up just a little. Another day the earth
was cracked open, and soon after that to his great joy, he found a dear
little sprig peeping up at him as though crying, ‘Here I am! How do you
do?’

“He danced about shouting for joy, and each day after that, could
fairly see the little sprig turn into a tree.

“Johnny told him how the seeds sent tiny roots down into the earth and
pushed the stem up through the ground, and Jack could hardly leave the
spot which had now grown so dear.

“When the little tree was thirsty, the rain gave it drink. The kind
wind blew and blew, bringing fresh sweet air for it to breathe, and
with every whiff it seemed to swell.

“The spring sunshine warmed it down to its roots, and in time there
were twigs with leaf buds, which presently uncurled and opened wide.

“‘See!’ said Johnny, ‘as the wind blows them they look like baby hands
throwing kisses!’

“‘Yeth!’ cried Jack, ‘maybe they are the kitheth I planted.’

“‘To be sure,’ Johnny replied, and together they watched it grow day
after day, week after week, month after month.

“Jack’s next birthday found the little tree a picture to behold. The
trunk was sturdy, and on it there were many branches appearing here and
there.

“Jack was quite a boy by this time, and soon after his little dresses
were replaced by tiny trousers. His baby talk was no more, and he was
now old enough to help care for the little tree.

“He dug about its roots with his wee spade, and Johnny showed him how
to enrich the soil, and told him many things about the care of trees.

“It was so splendid to know that as the tree spread its branches in the
air, so it spread its roots under the ground, giving it such a firm
support the wind would have to be very strong indeed to blow it over.

“‘How does it drink?’ the boy asked one day.

“‘Oh, such a fine way. It is a story all by itself,’ replied Johnny.
‘At the end of each root there are wee spongy mouths. When the rain
comes they drink it and whisper “Run fast to the trunk.”

“‘As it rushes through the trunk, the trunk cries in a gruff voice,
“Run along to the branches.”

“‘The branches wave and in sweet tones cry, “Welcome, run along to
the twigs, they need you.” The twigs drink it and whisper, “Run along
to the stems; they are just waiting for you.” The stems send it out
to the tip end of the leaves as they wildly wave and laugh aloud
over their sweet gift, for this water in the tree is sweet food that
nourishes every part and is called sap.’

“This was a fine story, and every time it rained Jack watched the
little tree, and thought he could almost hear the voices sending the
moisture on and on.

“As time passed the tree became stronger and larger, and finally one
spring day when Jack was quite a big boy he found buds on the branches.

“‘Buds!’ he called in great excitement, and real buds they were, which
the whole family came out to admire.

“The buds blossomed, and as the petals snowed down the air was sweet
with their fragrance.

[Illustration: “They looked like a lot of gnomes dressed for a party”]

“When Jack found baby apples on his tree he wanted to celebrate, and
Mother told him that when they were ripe he could invite his friends
and have an apple party.

“An apple party! That would be something new, and he hastened to tell
the good news at school.

“‘They are wonderful apples,’ he said. ‘No one in this part of the
country has any like them. I tell you we’ll have the fun at that party.
They are turning crimson; you never saw such a pretty apple tree!’

“A pretty tree it was indeed, and looked just like a Christmas tree all
dressed up.

“One day Johnny pronounced the fruit ripe and ready to eat.

“‘Hurrah! To-morrow we can have the party,’ cried Jack, tossing his cap
into the air.

“Now the fun began. Mother baked all sorts of goodies, and the little
home was made spick-and-span; even the door yard was swept for this
occasion.

“The day dawned sweet and clear. After breakfast Jack ran out to take
one look at his beloved tree, but alas! What do you s’pose?

“‘What!’ cried the audience in one breath.

“A cow had broken into the orchard, tramped the fence down, and was
feasting on the rosy fruit! A few branches were broken, and a sorry
sight it was, to be sure.

“Jack shrieked and threw himself on the ground sobbing:

“‘My dear little tree I planted with my own baby hands! I loved it so!
Now it is ruined!’

“Johnny Appleseed heard the wail and hastened to the scene.

“‘It isn’t ruined, Jack; it can be made almost as good as new. See!’
He skilfully cut the broken branches, covered the wounded spots with a
paste made of clay, talking the while to the little tree as though it
were a person whose wounds he was binding up so carefully.

“‘See!’ he said. ‘This clay paste will harden and keep the bugs out of
the wood until it can heal over. It will soon be all right again, but
it is too bad. Such a picture as it was, and the apples are most all
gone!’

“The apples!—Jack suddenly remembered. ‘The apple party was to be
to-day! What can we do?’

“‘Well, my boy, don’t you worry. The apple party will be to-day just
the same. We’ll take this basket and I’ll show you something I’ve kept
as a surprise.

“‘I planted the seeds that were left over in the far corner lot, and
those trees are as pretty a sight as you want to see. I have been
watching them as we have this. Come along.’

“The two trudged on, Jack wiping away his tears and beginning to wear
a rainbow smile after the shower.

“‘It’s a joke, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘That cow had an apple party all by
herself. I s’pose she didn’t like it because I didn’t invite her.

“‘Oh!’ he exclaimed suddenly, ‘there they are. How beautiful!’

“And indeed they were beautiful. A number of trees exactly like his
own, all looking so thrifty, and the branches dotted with rosy fruit.

“‘We’ll pick the apples and tie the stems to the branches of your own
little tree, because that is where you planned to have your party,’
said Johnny.

“Together they picked the apples, and with green string tied the stems
to the branches of the little tree.

“‘You’d hardly know it happened!’ cried the boy in joyous tones as the
work was finished, and both stood back to admire; and true it was, for
the apples really seemed to be growing, and so the apple party was a
success after all.

“The children had their lunch under the little tree, then each picked
his own apple and ate it before you could say, ‘Jack Robinson.’

“‘I know a great thing to do,’ cried Jack, as they were about to throw
away the core; ‘save the seeds and plant them, and we’ll all be Johnny
Appleseeds. You’ll each have a grand orchard started on your farm.’

“‘Splendid!’ laughed the old man. ‘If every seed brings forth a tree
there will be great rejoicing when you take the apples to market, for
they are certainly the best apples I ever tasted and should bring a
good price.’

“Wild with excitement, the children trooped home, and before long the
glossy seeds were covered up in the ground, waiting for the wonderful
thing that was to happen to them.

“In time there were many trees bearing the rosy fruit. All through one
little boy having such a fine birthday party.

“A tree is the dearest of treasures. I mean any kind of tree. It does
so many things. It gives fruit and shade. It gives the birds a place
to build their homes, and in return you have their beautiful music all
through the summer. It gives the squirrels a place to hide their nuts.
From the trunk many insects find their food.

“If it were not for the trees there would be no mince pies. From the
trees are built the ships which bring from foreign countries these many
goodies. How could we have any houses, or any furniture to put in them,
if there were no trees? See that splendid back log. It has kept us warm
all the long night. It came from a grand old tree that furnished fuel
for many a winter fire.

“And now I must stop, for I fear my tale has been too long. If it has,
please excuse me.”

“How splendid!” chorused the audience. And little Allspice begged for
another.




THE TALE OF THE STOLEN DOLL CLOTHES


Nutmeg cried: “I know a grand one! It happened right in a forest near
where I grew.

“You know those woods are full of monkeys, and they have great times.
One of their traits is to mimic. They usually do what they see others
do, and a good thing it was for the boy I’m going to tell you about.

“The boy’s name was Enrico. He lived with his widowed mother at the
edge of the forest. They were very poor and had tried in many ways to
earn money without success.

“The mother was handy with her needle, and one day a neighbour child
came in with her naked doll.

“‘I’ll dress it,’ said the mother, and from her scrap bag produced
cloth which she soon fashioned into a quaint gown for the doll.

“‘Mother!’ cried Enrico, much excited, ‘there are many dolls in the
town, without clothes. Could you not make them and I will sell them? I
know I can.’

“‘We’ll try,’ said Mother. She emptied her purse, ran to the store,
and soon returned heavily laden with gay materials, from which she
fashioned coats, gowns, petticoats, bonnets, hats and all sorts of
things for dolls.

“Enrico could scarcely wait for the time to come when he could go and
try his luck at selling them. One morning he started with his basket
well filled.

“His eyes shone, and his heart beat fast as he hurried along. He had to
pass through the forest to reach the town. It was a long walk, and a
hot day.

“‘I think it is time to eat my lunch,’ he presently said to himself as
he sat down under the trees. He was obliged to empty the basket as the
lunch was underneath the garments.

“He laid them in a neat pile and found the sandwiches and fruit which
his mother had carefully prepared. He had barely finished when his head
toppled over against a tree and he was fast asleep.

“And now comes the best part of the story. What do you think happened
to those lovely doll clothes?”

“Don’t stop!” cried Allspice. “Do tell us!”

“As the lad slept, there came a chattering and whisking about. In a
moment dozens of monkeys came down from the trees. They gobbled up the
crumbs, and then turned to the doll clothes. Almost before you could
say ‘Jack Robinson,’ they were robed in the tiny garments, and such
a sight you never saw. They looked like a lot of gnomes dressed for a
party. They played all sorts of games and raced wildly about in the
greatest glee. Suddenly Enrico opened his eyes on the scene.

“‘The doll clothes. The doll clothes,’ he wailed. ‘Give them back!’

“The monkeys saucily nodded their heads and quickly climbed into the
trees. Swinging from the branches with their tails curled about the
limbs, they chattered as though crying, ‘Get them if you can! Get them
if you can!’

“This was serious, and Enrico sat watching and wondering what he could
do, for he must have the clothes at once.

“Suddenly he remembered the monkey’s desire to imitate. In the long ago
his father had told him how they did just what they saw people do.

“It was worth trying, and the boy arose and threw off his cap.

“At once hats and bonnets were snowed down upon him. Enrico gathered
them up and placed them in his basket.

“Then off came his coat. Coats of all sorts now dropped about him.

“Chuckling to himself, Enrico now removed his other garments, and
immediately tumbled down the gay-coloured gowns and snowy underwear.

“Enrico gathered them up as fast as he could, fearing the monkeys might
descend upon him and once more rob him of his treasures.

“He then dressed himself and hurried on. He found a ready sale for
his wares in the market, and with a purse full of money, and requests
for many more garments of the same sort, he hastened home to tell his
mother of his good fortune.

“There was great rejoicing in the little home, and the day came when
Enrico was selling doll clothes in his own little shop in the heart of
the city.

“A dear little shop it was with a home in the back where his mother
cooked and sewed on the dainty garments.

“Enrico never tired of telling the children who came to buy, how he
almost lost the first lot of doll clothes he ever started out to sell.”

General applause followed this interesting story, while the chairman
cried, “Splendid! Splendid! It was most entertaining, and now I think
the hour has arrived when we should hear from Beef and her creamy
companion, both of whom remind me of Mary and her lamb, because where
one goes the other follows.”




TALE OF THE BROWNIE DOLL


The odd Brownie now came forward, with the creamy toddler holding fast
to her hand. They both bowed, and the Brownie began:

“I am commonly known as Beef, and I come not from the sheep or hog,
but from the cow.

[Illustration: “She loved her home”]

“As to where I come from, it would be hard to tell where I am not to be
found, for I believe cows roam about over the whole world.

“You may ride on trains anywhere and everywhere; you may sail on boats;
you may go up in flying machines, you will always see cows.

“I do not know of anything that seems quite as necessary as the cow,
both for meat and for milk.

“I came from a certain cow that spent most of its time in a green
meadow where birds sang above her head, and a near-by brook gurgled
over the stones, making the sweetest music.

“Night and morning a maid came with a shiny pail on her arm; as she
milked the Bossy she sang to the accompaniment of the brook.

“Often two little children came, each with a silver cup, for a drink of
the warm foaming milk.

“That cow was proud indeed to know that she furnished food for the
little ones.

“She loved her home. She could hear the chickens clucking, the geese
cackling, the lambs baaing, and the ponies neighing.

“She stood for hours looking off at the peaceful scene before her and
seemed always content.

“Suddenly she found herself no more in the meadow but hanging in juicy
quarters from a hook in a butcher shop. These quarters were cut up into
various parts to be used for steaks, roasts, soup bones, beef tea, and
all sorts of good things.

“At this time the store was trimmed up with bunches of green leaves and
bright red berries. Scarlet Christmas bells nodded on all sides.

“It seemed to be a gay and festive scene. Sleigh bells jingled,
telephones rang constantly, and finally I was placed in a basket with
other goodies, and the next thing I knew I was flying over the snow in
a bob sled.

“My basket was presently left on a kitchen table. Thereupon I was taken
from the package. A fat lady gave me a poke with her finger, and nodded
her head as she said:

“‘Fine cut. Just right for my mince meat.’ What that was I did not
know, but I was placed in a kettle and bubbled around in hot water for
some time, then I found myself in something else that was fastened to a
table. A handle twirled and twirled, and I turned into a fine bunch of
stuff, waiting for I knew not what.

“I’ll have to tell you about my little brother Suet, because he never
could, he is so shy.

“I always noticed that when people bought beef, they chose the parts
that had creamy fat clinging to them. They said they were sweeter and
more tender, and that fat is this little brother of mine, and that’s
why he clings so closely to me. That’s where he belongs.

“In a moment as I lay in the dish, all ground up, I felt coming down
all over me wee bits of creamy fat, so you see he still followed me.

“I was much interested to know what mince meat was, and I kept my eyes
and ears open to see what would happen next.

“It was a busy scene I looked out upon. One person was stoning raisins.
Another was peeling apples. All sorts of spices were being ground.
Citron was being cut up very fine, also orange and lemon peel. The
vinegar, molasses, and cider jugs were brought forth.

“Then everything was put into a wooden bowl, and as they were chopped
they all seemed to be singing the merriest of tunes. By and by the
mixture was tumbled into a crock with me, and I found I was beginning
to swell and to be quite important. I was stirred and stirred, and then
various people came and tasted and smacked their lips and tasted again.
One said, ‘A little more sugar, don’t you think so?’ Another looking
very wise said, ‘Needs more spice,’ and so I was doctored and fussed
with till finally I was pronounced just right, and I knew _the_ time
had arrived.

“I felt as one does at a circus when they have the grand entrée and I
fairly held my breath as I waited for the next act. I was mince meat at
last.

“Suddenly I was poured into what seemed to be a round white blanket.
It was so soft and cushiony I rejoiced over such a fate, but alas,
another blanket was placed over me. There were no sheets on this bed,
and it was as dark as a pocket. In a moment tiny eyelet holes appeared,
from which I could peep through up into the eyes of the busy cook. Then
a black door swung open. I was placed within a dark cavern, the door
swung back, and all was still.

“I felt myself growing warmer and warmer. My bed turned from soft
blankets to crispy covers. I bubbled and boiled, and presently when the
cover was a golden brown the door flew open, and once more I came out
into the light of day.

“I was placed in a window to cool, and the whole family came out to
admire me. I felt so proud I could hardly keep still.

“I knew I was intended for some wonderful event. Mr. Cinnamon Stick,
you said this pie was for the Christmas dinner to-morrow. Is it for an
ornament or a decoration of some sort?”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” sang the chorus, “you will soon learn when to-morrow
comes what you will decorate.”

“Why?” asked the Brownie, in alarm. “What will happen? What will they
do with this pie?”

“Oh!” laughed Cinnamon Stick, “it’s hard to tell; they _might_ do any
one of a number of things.

“It _might_ be suspended on chains from the chandelier, and swing to
the tune of an orchestra.

“They _might_ start it rolling across the hardwood floor down that
large hall, and wager whether it would fall upside down or downside up.

“There are many things that _might_ be done with it, but what’s the use
of worrying about to-morrow. We still have much of the night to pass
away.

“Here! what’s this rolling across the floor?”




TALE OF THE PIE CRUST


They all looked to see the pie itself rolling along mysteriously and
silently. When it reached the hearth it spun round and round for a
moment, then paused and began to speak.

“If you please, Mr. Chairman, and Ladies and Gentlemen, you are
forgetting me, the most important part of the pie.

“I am the crust, and whoever heard of a pie of any kind without a
crust? No one, of course, and so since I am really the most important
member of the large family, I think I should have my turn.”

“You certainly should!” cried Cinnamon Stick. “I am sorry I neglected
to call you. We are glad, indeed, to hear your story. What are you made
of?”

“I am composed of flour, lard, and water—”

“You’d be ruined if you didn’t put a pinch of me in,” cried Little Salt
eagerly.

“Certainly I would. Thank you for not allowing me to be spoiled.

“Of course you all know flour is made from wheat. The wheat plant is a
grass which looks much like barley and rye.

“The varieties are called, bearded, and beardless or bald.

“Some are planted in spring, for spring or summer wheat. Other kinds
in the fall to be ready the next season, that is winter wheat. The
latter was at one time thought to be the best, but lately with improved
methods of manufacture the spring wheat is equally as good.

“There are two kinds, white and red. Of the winter wheat the white is
best.

“Wheat is chiefly used for flour. The finest, but not the most
wholesome, is nearest pure starch. The richer parts are found nearest
the skin and are secured in the graham flour.

“Wheat has been known always, is mentioned in the Bible, and is found
almost everywhere.

“China wheat is a spring wheat, and this is where it came from. Once
upon a time some one had a chest of tea sent to him. It was a wonderful
gift to have, and was highly prized. In that tea was found a curious
grain. No one knew what it was, but they decided to plant it. From that
came wheat, and was called spring wheat.

“If you have been in the country you know how the wheat is cut with big
machines, and taken to the barn.

“Then many men appear and they thresh it. That means to get the chaff,
the outer husk, off. Then the grain is taken to the mill and ground
into flour.

“The flour is used for bread, cake, pies, and almost all of the baked
stuff we have.

“Lard is made from pork fat. The fat is boiled or rendered.

“Water is composed of two parts of hydrogen and one of oxygen, commonly
called H_2O. Pure water can be obtained by distillation from the ocean,
as is often done at sea. Some towns on the South American Coast have
been supplied in this way.

“The chief source of supply for water which falls on the earth is from
the ocean. The heat of the sun raises a vapour from its surface. This
vapour condenses and falls as rain or snow, either on sea or land.
Rain after falling for some time is almost pure and for that reason is
called soft. Hard water contains various minerals.

“That’s all about the crust. It isn’t very interesting, nor funny, but
it is good and everybody loves it.”

“Indeed, it is good, and most necessary to every pie,” declared the
Cinnamon Doll.

“And now suppose we wish for the Story Sprite. She is a dear and we
have time for just one more story.”

This wish was hardly expressed when the sound of bells was heard and
there before them stood the Story Lady, bringing with her a joyous
shower of bells.

“Oh, my dearies, this is the last time I can come!

“It is Christmas, as you know, and many Christmas parties are awaiting
me, but I just had to keep my promise to you.

“This time I want to tell you a Christmas tale I am sure you will enjoy
and love.

It is called:

HOW JACK FILLED THE STOCKINGS.

“It was Christmas Eve. The younger children were snugly tucked in bed,
while Jack sat staring at the empty stockings swinging from the mantel
shelf in the gleaming fire-light.

“Jack was only twelve, and the man of the house. His face was very
grave as he gazed alternately at the stockings, then at his mother
bustling about tidying up the room.

“She finally sat down, declaring sadly: ‘It’s no use, Jack. I haven’t a
penny to spare; the stockings will have to go empty.’

“The boy spoke not a word, but watched the fire sputter and crackle as
though perhaps it might solve the problem.

“Of one thing he was certain: the stockings should not go empty if he
could help it.

“The fire _did_ show him the way, for suddenly the logs began to send
out tiny sparks and snap for all the world like popcorn.

“‘Mother!’ he cried suddenly, ‘I have an idea. I’m going out.’

“‘Dress warm then, dear, and good luck to you.’

“The boy hurried out into the night, and _such_ a night!

“Snowflakes were flying thick and fast, and above his head the
ice-coated trees spread their friendly branches. He loved the crisp,
sharp air, and raised his face that the flakes might lodge and sting.

“Soon he reached the busy street and watched keenly for a chance to
earn a dime.

“Suddenly he saw a woman carrying a suitcase, running for the car,
while at her side toddled a child trying in vain to keep up with her.

“‘Let me help, may I?’ asked Jack wistfully.

[Illustration: “He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful
toy store”]

“‘Oh, if you only would,’ replied the woman, grateful indeed for the
aid.

“As they reached the corner she slipped a silver piece into his hand.
The car stopped, then whizzed on, leaving Jack staring at the quarter,
hardly able to believe it.

“‘A good beginning,’ he murmured, and ran into a near-by store, where
he purchased a few ears of popcorn and a small jar of molasses.

“Mother, much surprised, welcomed the gifts and boy with open arms.

“‘I earned them, Mother! Make some corn balls and candy while I try
again,’ and away he went.

“This time he was not so successful. Every one seemed busy and hurried
past him, not even glancing at the eager, earnest face.

“On one corner a hand-organ man was grinding out his music. Jack
watched to see the people stop and drop pennies into his little cup.

“Suddenly the boy had an inspiration. He could sing like a bird. In
fact he had been soloist of a boy choir in the town where they had
lived before coming to the city.

“That work he loved, and was never so happy as, when clothed in his
robes, walking up the aisle, singing while the great splendid organ
pealed out its glorious music.

“One song, the Christmas Lullaby, was his special favourite. He always
sang it at Christmas time. Why not sing it here on the street?

“It was sweeter than hand-organ music, and surely people ought to be
willing to give a few pennies to hear it.

“No sooner thought than done, and Jack darted down the street a few
blocks away from the hand-organ man.

“He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful toy store.
In the window was a tree covered with gifts. The lights twinkled and
danced as though cheering him on, and so there he paused and sang.

“He was a beautiful child. Indeed, in the fashionable church at home
he had been called the Christ child, and now as he sang, many were
attracted by his face and the clear sweet tones.

“They listened and passed on, leaving in the shabby cap many bits of
silver.

“After a time the boy walked on, halting at various corners to sing,
and presently found himself in front of a church.

“The music of the great organ pierced the air and as the door swung
to and fro, he saw a large audience with many children gaily dressed,
waiting expectantly.

“Jack was tired and cold. He longed to be enfolded in the light and
warmth within and listen to the music, and he quietly crept inside
up a stairway, then down to the front. No one was there and he leaned
forward to see a wonderful tree. It sparkled with tinsel, while
coloured lights gleamed here and there like shining jewels breathing
a halo about the head of the Christmas Angel standing on the topmost
branch.

“The outstretched arms seemed to pronounce a blessing on the fruit of
this tree waiting to be showered on the many little ones, who stood
admiring and exclaiming over this vision of beauty.

“It was an enormous tree. The top branches were fastened securely
to a heavy pole which was thrown across the chancel and rested in
the grooves on the hand-carved posts which stood either side of the
entrance to this sacred place.

“Jack, fascinated by the scene, watched hungrily every detail, and as
a thirsty flower holds up its dainty head for the first raindrops, so
the boy eagerly drank in every note of the music which he knew so well.

“He longed to be a choir boy once more, but he was timid and bashful
and feared to make any effort in this direction in a strange city.

“As he pondered on how to gain the coveted position, he watched the
tree being stripped of its fruit and placed in many outstretched hands.

“He gazed wistfully on the joyous scene, but was suddenly startled by a
flash of light, which, from his position, he saw was a thread of flame
leaping upwards toward the Christmas Angel.

“There was but one thing to do, and he was the one to do it. Without a
thought for himself he sprang for the pole, hung by his toes, and in an
instant the flaming branch was broken from the tree and crushed in his
hands.

“Below a quick cry of ‘Fire!’ rang out, then was heard the shriek of a
child.

“Jack knew the impending panic must be averted instantly, and as he
swung up on to the pole, he wound his limbs about it, and there perched
in the topmost branches, a veritable Christ Child, he sang, as he never
sang before, the Christmas Lullaby.

“The cries below ceased. The audience stared in amazement. Had he
fallen from the blue skies painted on the ceiling by a master hand or
had one of the Murillo angels, hovering amongst the billowy clouds,
come to life?

“Those who heard never forgot the pathos of the plaintive melody.

“The choirmaster listened breathlessly, for here was the soloist he had
for months been vainly seeking.

“The organist, wild with delight over the heavenly music, coming from
he knew not where, followed gently with the organ accompaniment, the
flute-like tones blending with the bird notes of the boy.

“Higher and higher soared the voice of the Christmas Angel, while the
people gazed entranced. Such tender sweetness it had never been their
privilege to hear.

“Surely the Baby Jesus was being lulled to sleep by the angelic music,
which at last slowly and gently died away.

“A moment of tense silence was followed by a rustle; the tension was
broken and Jack swung himself back to the gallery, to be greeted by
many outstretched hands.

“He had many questions to answer and before the child realised it, he
had told the story of limp stockings hanging by the chimneyside at
home, and how hard he had tried to fill them.

“His pathetic tale, together with his daring efforts to quench the fire
and avert a panic, moved many to tears.

“You all know what followed. How he was driven home in state in a
grand sleigh drawn by a pair of prancing horses, and how his new-found
friends not only filled the stockings, but then and there engaged him
as soloist of the boy choir at such a salary that his mother need work
no more, and they were all comfortable and happy for many a day.

“And now good-bye, and I wish you a very Merry Christmas.”

With that the Story Elf vanished, and her audience chorused:

“Wasn’t that lovely?”

“Indeed, it was,” declared Mr. Cinnamon Stick; “and now I believe we
have heard from every one of this large family—”




TALE OF THE INTERROGATION POINT


“No, you haven’t! No, you haven’t!” cried a sprightly voice, and there
appeared the queerest figure imaginable, coming apparently up from the
floor like a Jack in the box.

He seemed to be a combination of every one of them, and before he had
even spoken he seemed to be asking a question.

“Look at me. Guess who I am.”

“An Interrogation Point,” announced the Vinegar Doll.

“Yes, but an Interrogation Point asks a question. Who can answer it?”

The dolls leaned forward curiously examining this figure.

His head seemed made of suet, and he wore a hat adorned with tiny beef
croquettes about the edge of the brim. Sprays of raisins and currants
wandered over the crown, and about his neck was a necklace of allspice
with dangles of cloves, cinnamon and nutmegs.

Pepper and salt sprinkled his clothing, which seemed made from orange
and lemon peel. About his waist was a queer girdle from which wee sugar
bowls, molasses jugs and vinegar cruets jingled together, while he
tossed gay coloured apples into the air, caught them skilfully and then
disposed of them in various pockets.

With a gay nod he cried, “Can no one answer the question? Let me tell
you a little about myself, and then perhaps you can.

“You have all told how necessary you are. Let me tell you there would
never have been a mince pie without me, nor anything else worth while.

“Let me ask of you growing things, how did you happen to grow? How did
any of you happen to be? Some one had to plant the seeds. Some one had
to take care of the trees, vines and shrubs after they started to grow.

“Where there was no rain, water had to be carried. The trees and vines
had to be tended, trimmed, and cultivated. When the fruit was finally
ready, it had to be packed and shipped all over the world.

“Even after it found its way into that kitchen, what happened?
Everybody was—what—what was everybody doing? Now do tell me what this
interrogation point stands for? Think!” he pleaded.

Everybody thought. They screwed up their faces and thought some more.
They took one foot out from under them and thought. They put the other
foot under them and thought again.

What was everybody doing to get the pie ready—chopping, grinding,
baking.

Suddenly everybody beamed and chorused: “Working! Everybody was
working! You are called Work!”

“To be sure I am, and a lot of work it took to make this pie. All over
the world many, many people had many busy days.

“Can’t you just see them picking the raisins; sugaring the citron;
grinding spice; cutting the wheat; packing the oranges; taking care of
the cow; gathering the apples, and crushing them in the mill for cider?

“Oh, my dears, there is always work. Johnny Appleseed did an endless
amount of work, and see what came from it.

“The one who packed that box of tea and happened to drop a grain of
wheat therein, did a wonderful thing. That tiny grain brought us a kind
of wheat we might never have had. Can’t you just see them planting that
tiny seed? They watched it grow, tending the little sprout till it
finally came to maturity, and more grains were planted. At last there
was a wonderful crop of wheat, all due to your humble servant Work.”

[Illustration: “Best pie you ever made, my dear”]

With a sunny nod he vanished, and they looked and listened, but not
even a clank of his girdle charms did they hear.

“Well! Well!” cried Cinnamon. “Wasn’t he fine? Who would ever have
thought of him as belonging to mince pie. I fear we were all forgetting
that most important point, and glad I am he remembered to appear. And
now, my dears, the dawn is breaking, we must return.”

“But the mouse!” cried timid Allspice. “What about the mouse?”

“Oh, yes, the mouse!” chorused the audience breathlessly. “What about
the mouse?”

Cinnamon Stick said no word, but pointed a long thin finger toward the
clock.

The clock struck one (which was really half-past five), the mouse ran
down, and the chain clinkety clanked as he hopped to the floor and ran
away to his hole, and was seen no more.

His disappearance seemed a signal, and at once was heard a joyful
chorus. As the dolls sang they formed a procession, and two by two
marched back to the clock and wound their way about the spiral columns.

The Pie Crust was at the head and settled down in the pan, its cover
upheld as by an invisible hand. The dolls jumped into their places,
the cover was slowly dropping, when suddenly up popped the head of the
Vinegar Cruet.

“The Gifts!” he cried. “You forgot the Gifts!”

At that up popped every other head, crying in chorus:

“The Gifts! The Gifts! You forgot the Gifts!”

“No, I didn’t forget. They are on the way.”

As Mother and Jack watched, suddenly a red-coated, white, fur-trimmed
figure appeared. On his back was a basket piled high with candy. He
made his way to the clock, and as he stood over the pie he cried in the
jolliest of tones:

“Open your mouths and shut your eyes, and I’ll give you something to
make you wise.”

Open popped the dolls’ mouths, looking like a lot of birds, each
waiting for a worm, and all were filled to the brim with sweets.

They then nestled down close together. The top crust settled in place.
The flames flickered and died out; then all was still.


The next day was crisp and bright. Father came, and a joyous time they
all had over their gifts.

The turkey dinner was delicious, and presently the mince pie appeared
in all its glory.

Such a beautiful mince pie as it was!

Jack watched Mother cut it, and listened breathlessly for the “Ha!
Ha! Ha’s,” and the “Ho! Ho! Ho’s,” but not a sound did he hear, till
presently at the first mouthful Father cried:

“Best pie you ever made, my dear. For once you have it sweet enough!”

Jack and his mother merely nodded and smiled, but not a word said they!


THE END





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