BOOKS AND READING
BY HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE
A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE
The fire leaped and played over the big logs in the fireplace in the jolliest way imaginable, chuckling and whispering to itself, while the wood snapped cheerily in reply. Everything indoors and out was clearly in the best of spirits and ready for holiday fun.
But little Rose’s blue eyes had been slowly filling with tears, and suddenly she let her head fall on her brother’s shoulder, and burst right out crying. They were snuggled up together in the big, red arm-chair that was just big enough for them both.
John patted her back encouragingly. “There, there, Sis,’ he whispered; “this is n’t the only Christmas we ’ll ever have.” But the whisper was a little shaky.
“It ’s this Christmas,” wailed the little girl. “Other Christmases don’t seem to matter. They are n't real yet!”
“I know,” returned John, cuddling her to him.
She stopped crying, except for an occasional sniff, and both children watched the fire at its busy playing.
“I suppose the fire does n’t know we can’t have any Christmas,” Rose said presently. “See how it jumps and laughs. Mama said it had been such a hard year, we ought to be thankful we had a fire and a roof and enough to eat. She said lots and lots of little children did n’t have; but I thought every one had Christmas. Did n’t you?”
“No, I knew that they did n’t. But then we were kinder used to Christmas.”
“Yes,” agreed Rose, sadly. “But Papa said everything went wrong this year, an’ that ’s why we can’t have any Christmas.”
The sun had gone while the children were talking, and except for the fitful light of the fire, the room was dark. Many, many shadows were crowding into it, getting ready for all the work of the night.
Suddenly Rose pointed to the mantelpiece. “Why—what ’s that?” she exclaimed.
“What?” said her brother, looking where she pointed. And then they both said “Oh!” very softly and slowly.
For there, sitting on the edge of the mantel-piece, right beside the clock, was an unmistakable fairy.
“Don’t be frightened, children,” she said, in a silvery voice like the tinkle of a breaking icicle, as soon as she saw they had discovered her. “I ’ve been wondering when you ’d notice me.”
And here the little figure, not one bit bigger than Rose’s tiny kitten, Snowflake, jumped off the mantelpiece straight to the arm of the big chair. And “Oh!” said John and Rose again, at the very same instant.
The fairy smiled at them. She was dressed in white fur that shone and twinkled like the snow when the sun shines on it. And on her floating, golden curls was set what looked like a tiny crown of icicles. Her cheeks were a lovely pink, and her face the sweetest and merriest conceivable. And when she spoke, her voice was like the clear ringing of skates on ice, except for a ripple of laughter that ran through it all the time.
“I ’m the Christmas fairy,” she said, smiling. “When Santa Claus cannot come, I take his place as well as I can; so I ’ve come to you this year.”
“We never heard of you,” said John, gravely, looking at her with the deepest admiration. “What do you do?”
“I don’t take things to children, like my big friend and his reindeer; but I take children to things—to other places, and times, and people.188
