.dt Down the Snow Stairs, by Author-A Project Gutenberg eBook
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The cover image was modified by the transcriber to add the title\
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The Two Ways.
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[Illustration: Frontispiece The Two Ways.]
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DOWN THE SNOW STAIRS;
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OR,
FROM GOOD-NIGHT TO GOOD-MORNING.
By ALICE CORKRAN,
Author of “Margery Merton’s Girlhood,” etc., etc.
WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY GORDON BROWNE.
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[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
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NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
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CONTENTS.
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CHAP. | | PAGE
I. | Christmas Eve | #1:ch01#
II. | Kitty and Johnnie | #17:ch02#
III. | Down the Snow Stairs | #34:ch03#
IV. | Naughty Children Land | #48:ch04#
V. | “To Daddy Coax’s House” | #67:ch05#
VI. | Daddy Coax | #85:ch06#
VII. | On the Other Side of the Stream | #112:ch07#
VIII. | Pictures in the Fog | #122:ch08#
IX. | Love Speaks | #151:ch09#
X. | In the Wood | #162:ch10#
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XI. | Kitty Dances with Strange Partners | #177:ch11#
XII. | “Eat or Be Eaten” | #192:ch12#
XIII. | Play-Ground, and After | #206:ch13#
XIV. | “I and Myself” | #215:ch14#
XV. | Was it Johnnie’s Face? | #229:ch15#
XVI. | At the Gate | #242:ch16#
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
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| PAGE
The Two Ways | #Frontispiece:frontis#.
Restless Kitty | #1:i010#
Johnnie and His Art Treasures | #5:i014#
The Snow-Man | #16:i016#
Down the Wide Staircase | #16:i027#
Kitty’s Tears | #22:i033#
Sliding Down the Balusters | #28:i039#
The Snow-Man Visits Kitty | #35:i046#
Following the Snow-Man | #39:i050#
The Drollest Creature | #40:i051#
Kitty and the Elf | #45:i056#
Broken Toy Land | #49:i060#
A Dismal Chorus | #51:i062#
“A black creature glared at her” | #54:i065#
A Disagreeable Acquaintance | #56:i067#
Little Cruel-Heart | #61:i072#
A Good Fight | #64:i075#
The Song of the Sillies | #69:i080#
“I am not vain” | #73:i084#
A Jam-Tart Too Many | #78:i089#
Kitty and Daddy Coax | #87:i098#
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A Lively Wig | #89:i100#
Sweetening the Fury | #95:i106#
All Jam and No Powder | #98:i109#
Little Spitfire | #100:i111#
The Fight for the Flute | #108:i120#
The Shadow of the Rod | #111:i124#
“Peering out of the mist” | #114:i127#
The White-Robed Stranger | #119:i132#
Entangled in the Web | #123:i136#
The Tramp of Weary Feet | #126:i139#
Ice-Children | #130:i143#
The Right One to Kick | #133:i146#
A Hard Lesson | #139:i152#
“Oh, to be hungry again!” | #141:i154#
Faces! Faces!—a World of Faces! | #145:i158#
The Cry for the Kiss | #152:i167#
Kitty’s Guardian Child | #155:i170#
Kitty’s Naughty-Self Goblin | #161:i176#
The Hanging Dwarf | #166:i181#
Goblin Sloth | #169:i184#
“Real yawning” | #172:i187#
“At one bound she sprang across” | #176:i191#
The Frog-Like One | #178:i193#
Step, Wriggle, and Bow | #181:i196#
The Little Courtiers | #185:i200#
Kitty’s Musings | #188:i203#
Apple-Pie Corner | #193:i208#
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The Boy with the Suetty Voice | #199:i216#
Struggling Onward | #204:i221#
I and Myself | #217:i234#
Mr. Take-care-of-himself | #220:i237#
“A cripple like Johnnie” | #226:i243#
A Merry Game | #232:i249#
The Goblin Crew | #236:i253#
Out of the Mist | #241:i258#
At the Locked Gate | #244:i261#
The Mist of Punishment Land | #248:i265#
Home Again | #251:i268#
“It is a secret” | #254:i271#
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[Illustration]
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CHAPTER I||CHRISTMAS EVE.
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Toss! toss! from one side to the other; still
Kitty could not sleep.
The big round moon looked in at the window,
for the curtain had not been drawn, and it made
a picture of the window on the wall opposite,
and showed the pattern on the paper; nosegays
of roses, tied with blue ribbon; roses and knots
of blue ribbon; like no roses Kitty had ever
seen, and no blue ribbon she had ever bought.
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Toss! toss! toss! she shut her eyes not to
see the picture of the window on the wall or
the roses and the blue ribbon, yet she could
not go to sleep. It was always toss! toss!
from one side to the other.
It was Christmas Eve, and outside the world
was white with snow.
“It had been a dreadful day,” Kitty said to
herself. “The last nine days had been dreadful
days, and this had been the dreadfulest of
all.”
Her brother Johnnie was very ill; he was
six years old, just two years younger than herself;
but he was much smaller, being a tiny
cripple. Next to her mother Kitty loved him
more than anybody in the whole world.
All through those “dreadful” nine days she
had not been allowed to see him. She had
many times knelt outside his door, and listened
to his feeble moan, but she had not been permitted
to enter his room.
That morning she had asked the doctor if
she could see Johnnie, as it was Christmas Eve.
The doctor had shaken his head and patted
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her hair. “He must not be excited; he is still
very ill. If he gets better after to-night—then—perhaps!”
he said.
She had overheard what he whispered to
Nurse. “To-night will decide; if he pulls
through to-night.”
All day Kitty had thought of those words.
“To-night, if he pulls through to-night.”
What did they mean? did they mean that
Johnnie might die to-night?
She had waited outside Johnnie’s room; but
her mother had said, “No; you cannot go in;”
and Nurse had said, “You will make Johnnie
worse if you stand about, and he hears your
step.”
Kitty’s heart was full of misery. “It was
unkind not to let me in to see Johnnie,”
she said again and again to herself. She
loved him so much! She loved him so much!
Then there was a “dreadful” reason why his
illness was worse for her to bear than for any
one else. Kitty remembered that ten days ago
there had been a snow-storm; when the snow
had ceased she had gone out and made snowballs
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in the garden, and she had asked her
mother if Johnnie might come out and make
snow-balls also.
“On no account,” her mother had answered;
“Johnnie is weak; if he caught a cold it would
be very bad for him.”
Kitty remembered how the next morning she
had gone into the meadow leading out of the
garden. There the gardener had helped her
to make a snow-man; and they had put a pipe
into his mouth. She had danced around the
snow-man, and she had longed for Johnnie to
see it.
Kitty remembered how she had run indoors
and found Johnnie sitting by the fire in his low
crimson chair, his tiny crutch beside him, his
paint-box on the little table before him. He
was painting a yellow sun, with rays all round
it.
It was Johnnie’s delight to paint. He would
make stories about his pictures; he told those
stories to Kitty only. They were secrets. He
kept his pictures in an old tea-chest which
their mother had given him, and it had a lock
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and key. Johnnie kept all his treasures there—all
his little treasures, all his little secrets.
They were so pretty and so pitiful! They
were his tiny pleasures in life. Johnnie was
painting “Good Children Land” and “Naughty
Children Land.” Good Children Land he painted
in beautiful yellow gamboge; Naughty
Children Land in black India ink.
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[Illustration]
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Kitty in her bed to-night seemed to see the
whole scene, and to hear her own and Johnnie’s
voices talking. She had rushed in, and
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Johnnie had looked up, and he had begun to
tell her the story of his picture.
“Look, Kitty!” he had said; “this is the
portrait of the naughtiest child, the very, very
naughtiest that ever was; and he has come into
Good Children Land—by mistake, you know.
Look! he has furry legs like a goat, and horns
and a tail, just because he is so naughty; but
he is going to become good. I will paint him
getting good in my next picture.”
Kitty remembered how she had just glanced
at the picture; “the naughtiest child that
ever was” looked rather like a big blot with a
tail, standing in front of the yellow sun. But
she had been so full of the thought of the
snow-man that she had begun to speak about
him at once.
“Oh, Johnnie!” she had said, skipping about
first on one foot, then on the other. “The
gardener and I have made such a snow-man.
He’s as big as the gardener, and ever so much
fatter; and he’s got hands, but no legs, only a
stump, you know; and we’ve put a pipe into
his mouth.”
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The Snow-Man.—Page 6.
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[Illustration: The Snow-Man.—Page 6.]
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At this description Johnnie’s eyes had sparkled,
and he had cried, “Oh! I wish I could
see him!”
Then she had gone on to say, still skipping
about: “He has two holes for his eyes, and
they seem to look at me; and his face is as
round as a plate; he just looks like the man in
the moon smoking a pipe.”
This description had roused Johnnie’s excitement,
and he had stretched an eager little hand
toward his crutch.
“Please take me to see him! please take me
to see him!” he had entreated.
Kitty remembered that she had hesitated.
“I am afraid it would give you a cold,” she had
said, looking at Johnnie with her head on one
side.
“I shall put on my hat and comforter,” Johnnie
had replied, grasping his crutch.
Still, she remembered, she had hesitated.
Her mother had said, “Johnnie must not go
out in the snow.” But then Kitty had thought:
“The sun is shining; and it will be for a
moment only.” She did so long for Johnnie to
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see the snow-man, and he wished it so much.
She remembered she had thought: “It can do
him no harm just for a moment.”
She had helped Johnnie on with his overcoat,
and wrapped his comforter round him,
and put on his hat, and together they had gone
out. There was no one in the hall, or on the
stairs; they had gone out unobserved.
Johnnie had not a notion he was disobeying
his mother. His tiny crutch danced merrily
along with a muffled thud in the snow. He
swung his small body as he hopped along; and
he laughed as he looked round on the glistening
white garden. So brisk and joyous was
his laugh that Kitty had thought it was like
the crow of a little cock. When Johnnie saw
the snow-man he shouted a feeble hurrah! and
he laughed more and more merrily as Kitty
danced about and pelted the snow-man with
snow-balls. Kitty remembered how she had
gone on dancing awhile. Then all at once she
noticed that Johnnie looked pinched and blue.
She had run up to him, just in time to catch
him as he was falling; his arm had lost its
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power, and his crutch had dropped. She had
held him tight; but he looked so pale and thin
that she thought he was going to die. Her
screams had brought the gardener to the rescue,
and Johnnie had been carried indoors. That
night Johnnie’s illness had begun, and ever
since the doctor had come twice a day.
Kitty had never been able to tell any one of
the load that had been weighing on her heart
during those nine “dreadful days.” Once she
had tried to say it to her mother; but she burst
into such a fit of sobbing that the words refused
to come. No one had reproached her for having
taken Johnnie out, no one had even mentioned
it to her; but she knew it was she who
had brought all this suffering on him. She
who loved him so much! she who loved him so
much!
As she was thinking of all this a voice
sounded by her bedside; it said:
“Now, missy dear, you must not take on so.
You must not fret. Look what old cooksie-coaxy
has brought you—a mince-pie—a big—beautiful
mince-pie—all for missy—alone.”
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It was cook who had stolen softly into the
room. She was a fat, good-natured soul, and
she spoilt Kitty terribly. All during that sad
week cook had petted her, giving her cakes
and sweets. She had kept assuring Kitty she
was the dearest, best little girl in the world—“Cooksie-coaxy’s
little angel-darling, and that
Johnnie would soon get quite well.”
This sympathy had sometimes been very
agreeable to Kitty, and she had accepted it and
the sweet things it brought gratefully; but at
other times she had repelled it, feeling angry
with cook for saying what was not true only
to please her.
Now Kitty buried her face deeper in the
pillow, stopped her ears, and waved away cook
and the mince-pie with an impatient elbow.
“Go away! go away!” she cried. “You
spoil me; mamma says you spoil me. I would
not be so naughty if you did not spoil me.”
Cook continued to hold out the mince-pie,
but Kitty would not look round.
“Go away! go away!” she repeated.
Poor cook departed, leaving the mince-pie
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on a chair by Kitty’s bed. As she reached the
door she looked round, and murmured: “Poor
little dear, she doesn’t mean to be unkind to
old cooksie-coaxy.”
Toss! toss! went Kitty again as soon as
she was left alone. She had never been so
wakeful.
It was as if some little creature was sitting
on her pillow and talking to her. It was not
a real voice; it was her memory that was wide
awake.
“You have teased Johnnie,” it said. “He is
so helpless. And how often when he has asked
for his treasures you have brought him rulers,
books, all sorts of things he did not want. Did
you see the gush of tears in his eyes when you
continued to tease, and when you ceased, the
grateful, forgiving little lips put up to kiss
you?”
As Kitty listened she tossed about even more
restlessly.
Presently the voice that was her memory
went on again: “There was that peach last
summer; your mother gave it you to share with
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Johnnie. You gave him the smaller half; you
kept the bigger one for yourself.”
Kitty tried not to hear, but the voice went
on speaking: “How often you have run out
to amuse yourself and left him pining alone.
Do you remember that day when the Punch
and Judy man brought his show into the garden,
how impatient you were? Tap! tap! his
eager little crutch could scarcely follow you.
You dropped his hand suddenly and he fell to
the ground. What a piteous, helpless little
heap he looked. He could not raise himself;
but when you lifted him he stroked your
cheek and said: ‘Never mind, Kitsie,’ and he
never told. Do you remember how pale he
looked all day, as if he were in pain?”
Kitty could not bear listening to that voice
any longer, so she sat up in bed. And there,
on the wall opposite, there seemed written in
the moonlight what the doctor had said: “If
he pulls through to-night.”
Did it mean that Johnnie might die to-night?
She must see Johnnie—she must. She would
be so gentle, so good. If he would only get
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well again she would never tease him again—she
would never be impatient—she would always
be good to him. She would put aside
all her money and buy toys for him to put into
his treasure-box.
If they would only let her in she would
creep into his room, sit by his bedside, and
hold his hand. She would tell him the story
of the “Blue Rose,” which she had invented
out of her own head and which he liked so
much.
Kitty now went over the story to herself.
“There was a garden to which a fairy with
blue wings and a blue hat had told her the
way. It was very difficult to find, and it was
a secret. But there was a rose in that garden,
just like any other rose, only it was much
bigger, and it had more leaves and a sweeter
smell, and it was blue, and the fairy said if
Johnnie smelt it he would get quite well.
Then she and Johnnie [in the story] went off
together, and they had a great many adventures.
They had met robbers and giants, and
they lost their way in a wood, and all sorts of
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terrible things had happened. But she had
taken such care of Johnnie. She had protected
him from the robbers, she had deluded the
giants and sent them to sleep, and at last she
and Johnnie had come to the garden. Such a
garden—full of lovely flowers! and right in
the middle of the garden there was a blue rose,
exactly the color of the fairy’s wings and hat.
It was set round with thorns, but Kitty did
not care one bit. She pushed her arm right
through the thorns. It would get all scratched,
but she did not mind. She would pluck the
blue rose and give it to Johnnie. He would
smell it, and at the first whiff his leg would
grow straight; he would smell it again and his
leg would grow strong; he would smell it a
third time and he would throw down his
crutch, he would begin to jump about and
dance. They would play games of hide-and-seek
and run races, and Johnnie would run
faster than she could. They would come home
together, and everybody would wonder; but
they would not say a word about the ‘blue
rose.’ It was a secret.”
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This story had been quite a little story when
Kitty had first made it out of her own head;
but Johnnie had added bits to it. He had
put in about the giants, and about a tiger
with glaring green eyes going to spring upon
him just as they found the gate of the garden.
The more she thought of all these things the
more Kitty felt she must see Johnnie.
Out went one bare foot from under the coverlid,
and still there in the moonlight it seemed
to be written: “To-morrow is Christmas Day
and there may be no Johnnie.”
This might be Johnnie’s last night. Kitty
felt she would cry out if she did not see him,
and out of bed went the other bare foot.
The clock struck the half-hour; it was half-past
nine. How silent the house was! Her
mother was lying down. Nurse was with
Johnnie. If only she would come out of his
room! She wished with all the might of her
little heart nurse would come out. But nothing
stirred through the house. Yes, after
awhile she heard a slight noise, a door was
creaking below. It was Johnnie’s door. She
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heard a step. Out of bed dashed Kitty. She
ran into the lobby; she looked over the
balusters.
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Yes, it was nurse going downstairs to the
kitchen. She saw her white cap and apron distinctly.
Kitty’s heart seemed to stop beating.
The kitchen door closed after nurse. Hush!
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CHAPTER II||KITTY AND JOHNNIE.
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Hush! The night-gowned, barefooted small
figure crept down the wide staircase. Outside,
the garden covered with snow glittered under
the light of the big, beautiful full moon; it
was so bright that it put out all the stars except
those in far-away corners. There was a
colored window on that staircase. As Kitty
crept past it a bar of pink light, a square of
lovely blue, a patch of orange shaped like a
dragon fell upon her white night-gown. The
trees outside were still, as if they were fast
asleep under their eider-down covering of
snow.
Hush! There was not a sound or a stir
through the house, except the flap, flap of Kitty’s
bare feet on the stairs. Suddenly a mouse ran
across; Kitty saw its long tail quite distinctly.
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She was very much afraid of mice; the sight
of one would give her a creepy feeling. But
to-night she did not care for this mouse, nor for
an army of mice. She was going to see Johnnie.
She had no fear, except that of not being
able to reach him.
Hush! Suddenly a stair creaked, and the
creak sounded like a scream through the
silence. Kitty huddled herself up, her shoulders
to her ears, her elbows and hands pressed
close against her sides and chest. She stood a
moment or two staring, and thump, thump
went her heart; but everything remained silent
as before, and the bare toes resumed their
march—cautiously—down—down. Now she
sees Johnnie’s door. It is not quite shut.
Something is standing before it. What is it?
Something white and small. Is it Johnnie’s
spirit?
Flutter—flutter—thump—thump went her
heart. She stood trembling with terror; but
alive or dead she must see Johnnie. Her love
is greater than her fear. Down—down she
goes, keeping her eyes fixed on that white
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thing before the door. Then she almost laughs
out, for she sees it is no spirit, but a white
apron hanging just inside the door.
Hush! Just as Kitty reaches the last step
a door opens below. It is the kitchen door.
She hears the servant talking. Nurse’s voice
reaches her quite plainly. Is she coming up?
Beat—beat—beat goes Kitty’s heart, and she
peers over the balusters.
The next moment the door is shut again, and
once more there is not a stir or a sound through
the house.
Hush! Cautiously—cautiously Kitty pushes
Johnnie’s door wide enough open to let her
pass in.
She stands now in the dear familiar room.
A fire burning in the grate fills every corner
with a ruddy glow. She sees the pictures on
the walls, on the table the medicine bottles and
a spoon, in its accustomed place the low red-cushioned
chair and tiny crutch beside it. A
little bed with white curtains stands in a corner.
Softly—softly Kitty makes her way toward
the bed, and pauses when she approaches it.
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Johnnie’s face is on the pillow, white as the
snow in the garden; all around it a cloud of
golden hair. His eyes are closed, and the long
lashes look very dark against the pale cheeks.
Kitty remained quite quiet a moment looking
at him; then she came closer within the curtains
and laid her hand—a very warm brown
plump one—on the wee white hand lying outside
the red coverlid.
“Johnnie!” she whispered, and the name
came as if the little heart would burst if it was
not spoken.
Johnnie opened his eyes, looked blankly and
queerly at her, then at once closed them again.
“Johnnie, speak to me!” urged Kitty with a
sob.
Thus appealed to, Johnnie once more opened
his eyes wider and wider, till the white wasted
face seemed to become all blue eyes. Still he
gazed blankly at his visitor in the night-gown;
gradually his look brightened, he began to
smile, the smile broadened into a laugh.
“Kitty!” he exclaimed in a glad feeble whisper.
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“I ought not to have waked you,” said Kitty,
in a quivering voice; “but they have not let
me near you for nine days. I have counted
them—nine [a great sob]. I have sat outside
your door—but they would not let me in [sob,
sob, sob].”
“Poor old Kitsy!” whispered Johnnie; and
up went the tiny hot hand in an effort to stroke
Kitty’s cheek.
“They will send me away now if they find
me,” continued Kitty, shaking with a burst of
tears. “Mother is lying down. I heard nurse
go downstairs—and so—and so—” Here the
heaving of the little bosom, and the quick motion
of the chin up and down, checked further
speech.
Johnnie panted a moment on his pillow before
he said:
“I have sometimes fancied you were in the
room, Kitsy. I saw you quite plain—your
freckles and your dear little cocked nose.”
At this description of herself Kitty knelt in
a delighted heap by Johnnie’s bed, and rubbed
her face round and round on his red flannel
sleeve, very much like an affectionate pussy.
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
“I have cried so much since you were ill,”
she went on after awhile. “One day I wetted
seven pocket handkerchiefs with my tears. I
hung them up to dry. I counted them—there
were seven.”
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[Illustration]
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Johnnie’s eyes glistened with sympathy, and
he repeated in his feeble voice:
“Poor old Kitsy!”
“It was the day,” went on Kitty, wishing to
be exact, “that mother said I was to say in my
prayers, ‘Pray God, leave us little Johnnie; but
thy will be done.’ I prayed all day, I kept
going down on my knees, and every time I
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
waked up in the night I said ‘Leave us little
Johnnie.’ I did not say ‘Thy will be done.’ I
said ‘Leave us little Johnnie, leave us little
Johnnie.’”
There was a silence; then Johnnie said in an
odd sort of a way:
“I know what day that was. It was the day
I saw my guardian child.”
“Your guardian child!” repeated Kitty curiously.
Johnnie nodded.
“What was he like?” asked Kitty, pressing
nearer up against the bed.
“He was just like me,” answered Johnnie,
looking straight before him, as if he were seeing
there what he described; “only his two legs
were both the same size—so he had no crutch,
and he had a rosy face.”
“How was he dressed?” asked Kitty, growing
more curious.
“He had a rainbow sort of a coat on,” replied
Johnnie, “and he had two little pink wings. I
thought he had come, perhaps, because I was
going to die—and he wanted to show me that
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
in heaven I was to have two legs the same size,
and no crutch.”
“Oh—o-oh!” cried Kitty, her tears gushing
out anew.
“Don’t cry, Kitsy,” the little panting voice
resumed. “When I die I want you to have
my cake of gamboge, my rose-pink, my India-ink,
and my two sable brushes.”
“But you are not going to die,” cried Kitty,
giving the bed a shake as she plumped against
it. “To-morrow is Christmas Day, and you are
to be much better to-morrow. Oh, Johnnie!”
she added, wiping away her tears, “I have
such a present for you: something you wanted
ever, ever so much!”
“Is it another go-cart to take fancy drives
in?” asked Johnnie eagerly.
“A go-cart! No!” answered Kitty scornfully.
“Is it a musical box with more than one
tune?” asked Johnnie, a patch of red forming
on one cheek.
“It is something ever so much more splendid,”
cried Kitty; “but you are not to know
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
till to-morrow. It is a secret. I’ll only just
tell you”—and she nodded several times impressively—“that
it sings and is alive.”
“Sings and is alive! Is it”—and now a red
patch came on both Johnnie’s cheeks—“is it—no,
it can’t be—is it—a bu—ull—finch?”
“Ye—es,” cried Kitty, jumping up and beginning
to skip about, first on one bare foot
and then on the other. “But you are to forget
till to-morrow,” she went on, stopping her
dance. “You must forget it, for it is a secret
till Christmas Day.”
“Has it a tune?” whispered Johnnie, taking
no notice of this order to forget.
“A lovely tune,” answered Kitty, her eyes
sparkling. “‘Home, sweet home.’ He sings
it with his tail up and his head on one side.”
As Johnnie laughed with joy, Kitty gave a
sob of delight.
“I ran off to the shop by myself, the bird-fancier’s,
you know; ever so far. Nurse scolded
me dreadfully when I came back; she was
so frightened, not finding me anywhere at
home.”
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
“Oh, I did so long for a bullfinch, dear, good
old Kitsy!” murmured Johnnie, looking very
wide awake.
“I am not good. I am very naughty,” said
Kitty slowly. “Oh, Johnnie, I am miserable
when I have been naughty to you! It gives
me a pain here,” and she thumped her chest.
“You are never naughty. You are a good,
GOOD, GOOD Kitsy,” panted Johnnie with
emphasis.
“I am not good to you. I tease you so often,
and I am greedy. I take the largest half of
things—when you—you—ought to have them
all,” cried Kitty, too shaken by repentant sobs
to particularize the speech. “I let you fall one
day last summer.”
“Good Kitsy, good old Kitsy all the same,”
insisted Johnnie, thumping the coverlid with
his tiny fist.
Still Kitty’s sobs did not subside: they
grew bitterer and bitterer. Then came the
confession:
“I made you ill, Johnnie. I took you—out—in
the snow.”
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
“I made you take me,” said Johnnie sturdily.
“Mother had said I was not to take you out
in the sn—now,” went on Kitty, shaking with
sobs. “You did not know she had said so.
Oh, Johnnie, forgive me! Say you forgive
me!”
“I made you take me out,” repeated Johnnie.
Then, as Kitty’s sobs continued, he put his wee
hand on her head, and said in a voice weak as
the pipe of a wounded bird, “Don’t cry, Kitsy.
I forgive you!”
There was a silence. Then Kitty dried her
tears.
“I wonder what makes me so naughty!” she
said.
“It is not naughtiness; it is having two
legs the same size,” answered Johnnie comfortingly.
“But if you had two legs the same size, do
you think you would be naughty, Johnnie?”
Johnnie thought awhile; his eyes glistened,
and he shook his downy head.
“I would run all day long and nobody could
stop me,” he said.
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
“Do you think you would run about and
forget things, and often jump about at lesson
time?” questioned Kitty.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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“I think I should,” said Johnnie regretfully.
“Do you think you would slide down the
balusters?” still cross-questioned Kitty.
“I might,” answered Johnnie very humbly.
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
“Johnnie, I wish I could give you my two
legs. I wish I could. I would not give one
just only to be good; but I would give you the
two. I lo-o-ove you so much, Johnnie!” and
Kitty shook the bed with her sobs as she took
his hand in hers.
Johnnie looked wistfully before him: his face
was crimson; his eyes shone like two tiny lamps;
the little hand in Kitty’s seemed to burn. Then
he said cheerily:
“It would not do for every one to have two
legs. There would not be any one to sit down,
and look on, and clap hands, and say hurrah!
when the others were running matches, you
know.”
“As you did when Cousin Charlie and I
played in the hay that day last summer,” cried
Kitty.
“Yes,” said Johnnie, and he began to mutter
something Kitty did not understand.
“We’ll play again next summer, and you’ll
look on,” said Kitty.
“Yes. How sweet the hay smells!” said
Johnnie in a strange far-away voice.
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
“Miss Kitty!” said some one behind.
Turning round Kitty saw nurse standing
with her two hands raised and her eyes
round with alarm and trouble. “Oh, Miss
Kitty, what have you done? what have you
done?”
“I am not going!” cried Kitty, stamping one
bare foot. “I won’t go. Every one comes to
Johnnie but me.”
“What is the matter?” asked another anxious
voice. It was the children’s mother. “Kitty
here!” she added, very much amazed.
“Yes, ma’am. Johnnie was sleeping like a
lamb, he was. I slipped down just for a bit of
supper. When I came up, there’s Miss Kitty,
and there’s Johnnie, all awake and in a fever.”
“Oh, Kitty! what have you done? what have
you done?” said the poor mother as she knelt
down by the bedside and with straining eyes
gazed at the little boy muttering and talking to
himself.
A fear came over Kitty at her mother’s words
and at the look in her eyes. She began to cry,
but nurse in a moment had taken her in her
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
arms, carried her upstairs, and put her into bed.
She did not say a word, but she looked very
grim.
“Oh, nurse, have I done Johnnie any harm?”
cried Kitty, springing out of bed and clutching
at nurse’s skirt as she was leaving the room.
“Harm!” repeated nurse, twitching her dress
out of Kitty’s grasp. “The doctor said Johnnie
might get well if he slept to-night and was
kept quiet, and you went and waked him. It
is the second time you—”
Nurse paused. Then she jerked out, “That
is the harm you have done,” and left the
room.
At those dreadful words Kitty felt cold: she
stole back to bed, and turned her face to the
wall. “Might Johnnie have got well if she
had not waked him? Would he die now?”
She did not sob, but she kept moaning to herself
in the dark; and her heart sent up a prayer
like a cry: “Pray God, do not let Johnnie die!
Do not let Johnnie die!”
“Hush, Kitty!” said her mother’s gentle
voice. “Johnnie seems to be going to sleep;
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
he is quieter now. Perhaps he will be better
to-morrow.”
“Oh, mamma! mamma!” cried Kitty, throwing
herself into her mother’s arms. “I had so
longed to see him! I had so longed to see
him!”
Her mother made Kitty lie down: she sat
down by her bedside, and taking her two hands
she spoke soothingly to her little girl. When
Kitty’s sobs were quieter she told her how easy
it is to get naughtier and naughtier unless we
resist temptation. In every little heart are the
seeds of naughtiness that will grow and grow.
“But I was not so very naughty,” said Kitty
with a big sob.
“You were naughty. I should not love you
if I did not say you were naughty,” the sweet
voice continued, talking in Kitty’s ear. She
sometimes lost what it said, but she heard the
sound like a lullaby.
“Punishment always follows naughtiness.
It comes like the shadow that follows you in the
sunshine. It may not be in pain to your body
that it will come. It may come in grief for
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
seeing another suffer for your fault; but punishment
must follow wrong-doing.”
Then again the tender voice spoke:
“Your little heart tempted you to wake
Johnnie. You ought to have resisted, to have
said ‘No; what will comfort me may make
Johnnie suffer.’” Then again the voice said:
“We must resist temptation ... to win a
blessing.”
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
CHAPTER III||DOWN THE SNOW STAIRS.
.sp 2
“Get up! get up! get up!” said another voice.
Kitty was wide awake and sitting up in a
moment. Some one was standing by her bedside.
Was it nurse? Her white cap and
apron glimmered through the dusk.
“How is Johnnie?” cried Kitty, starting up.
It was not nurse; it was the snow-man staring
at her with his blank eyes, and waving a
great fingerless white hand to her in the moonlight.
Kitty did not feel frightened; she sat up
and looked at him. He held his pipe in one
hand; with the other he beckoned to her. She
could see the formless hand quite distinctly
waving backward and forward.
“Get up! get up! get up!” he repeated in a
hoarse, muffled voice.
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
“Go away, naughty snow-man,” said Kitty;
“it is your fault that Johnnie is ill.”
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.if-
“Don’t you want
to find the blue
rose?” said the
snow-man, with
little pants between
his words;
he seemed very
short of breath.
His voice began
with a rumble and a grumble, and ended in a
squeak.
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
“The blue rose that will cure Johnnie! Oh!
but where can I find it?” eagerly cried Kitty,
standing up in bed, and pressing up both
hands under her chin.
“Come away! come away! come away!” said
the snow-man, moving off.
He had an extraordinary way of walking—a
shuffling, shambling, sliding way, and as he
moved he still waved that white formless
hand, and gazed at Kitty with his blank eyeless
sockets.
“I dare not go downstairs again,” said Kitty.
But the snow-man was gliding, shambling,
shuffling toward the window. He opened it,
passed out, put his head back into the room,
and continued to beckon to her.
Kitty jumped down to see what it meant.
“I must put something on, or I shall catch
cold,” she remarked, glancing down at her
night-gown; but as her feet touched the ground
she perceived that she was ready dressed.
“How won—” she began; then she paused,
with her mouth open, looking at something much
more extraordinary. Just outside her window
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
spread a spacious flight of steps. Lovely stairs,
white as pearl! On one side they towered upward,
gleaming brighter and brighter till they
touched the moon; on the other, they reached
downward, till it made her dizzy to look. Far
down as she could see the great white stairs
reached.
As Kitty stood on the ledge of her window,
voices sounded around her; she thought she
heard her mother’s voice, her father’s voice,
nurse’s voice, calling: “Cure Johnnie! cure
Johnnie!”
A bell pealed from the church steeple; it
seemed to call out: “Cure Johnnie!”
Then other voices came again, floating along
down or up the white stairs, she could not tell
which, whispering:
“Find the blue rose! Find the blue rose!”
Was she to go up, or was she to go down
those white stairs?
The snow-man began to go down; Kitty followed
him.
“Hurry! hurry!” he panted impatiently. “I
am beginning to melt. There is a great drop
on my nose.”
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
He descended with a certain stateliness of
gait—gliding; then letting himself drop noiselessly
over each step. Kitty perceived that
this way of getting along was due to his having
no feet—that his figure ended in a stump.
Down, down they went, the snow-man going
before, Kitty following.
How still it was! Their footsteps made no
noise. Not a breath stirred. Nothing was to
be seen but those white stairs glimmering.
Down—down.
Every now and then the snow-man panted.
“Hurry! hurry! I am melting!” and a morsel
of him would disappear.
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[Illustration]
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His nose went; his pipe went; one after
another his features went, till the face he occasionally
turned toward Kitty was a flat
white face like a plate. One arm went.
Still gliding, dropping noiselessly over each
step, down went the snow-man, and Kitty
followed.
As she followed she began to feel very vague.
The lower she descended the less she could
remember what she was going for. She was
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
looking for something—something for Johnnie.
But what was it? “What am I looking for?” she
asked herself,
shaking her
head to shake off
that dreaminess.
“Is it that cake
of gamboge?”
No, it was not
that. It was
something else.
Something she
must find for
Johnnie.
After awhile
she thought she
was going down
for something
she wanted for
herself—something
she must
find.
“Oh, what is
it I am looking
for?” puzzled Kitty. “Is it that mince-pie?”
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
She shook her head. “No, I don’t want that.
It is something else.”
“Is it the naughtiest child?” Kitty went on
dreamily.
“No, it cannot be that. I do not want to
see the naughtiest child.”
Down, down they went, the snow-man melting
till he had dwindled to a stump. Still
gliding, dropping noiselessly over each step,
went this stump before
Kitty.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.if-
“Is it the moon I
want?” she asked
herself. As she said
this drowsily the last
bit of the snow-man
melted away, and she
found herself alone
at the bottom of the
stairs.
The snow had disappeared.
She was
standing in a meadow full of cowslips. At a
little distance stood a wicket-gate, and beyond
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
the gate there was a wood; one of the trees
overshadowed the gate.
It was broad daylight. The summer had
come; the trees were in full leaf. Kitty rubbed
her eyes; but she did not feel surprised.
In front of the gate stood the drollest creature
Kitty had ever seen, dancing to its own shadow.
Down to the waist it looked like a pretty boy;
but it had hairy goat legs, a curling tail, and
tiny horns. A pair of pointed ears showed
through its curly black hair. Its skin was a
golden brown. On seeing Kitty the queer
little creature stopped just as it was setting off
to run a race with itself. It had the wildest,
brightest, blackest eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked, fixing them upon
her.
“I!” answered Kitty. “I—why, of course—I
am—I am—” Then she stopped; she could
not remember who she was. “Where is mamma?”
she cried, frightened at forgetting.
“Mamma—you’ve no mamma—what was she
like?” demanded the goat-legged creature,
throwing back its goat-eared head and laughing.
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
“Mamma—she was—she was—talking to me—just
now—why—I can’t—I can’t remember
what—she was saying;” and Kitty looked
blankly at the frisking being. It laughed
louder and louder. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho!
ho! It sniffed the air with delight; it tumbled
and gamboled about, clattering its cloven feet.
“There was Johnnie, I know there was
Johnnie,” said Kitty slowly.
“Johnnie! I am Johnnie!” cried the brown
creature. It ran up the tree that overshadowed
the gate, and peered through the branches at
Kitty.
“No, you are not Johnnie,” she answered,
shaking her head. She was quite sure of that.
Down it jumped and began marching backward
and forward with high steps, keeping
time as to the sound of music. Its pretty
boy-head was thrown back—mischief and sportiveness
peeped out of its bright eyes.
Kitty thought she had never seen anything
so pretty, playful, and delightful as this elfish
being with its pointed ears, its tiny horns, and
bit of a tail. “Who are you?” she asked.
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
“I!” The creature paused in its marching,
laughed and sniffed the air, frisking to a measure
of its own, first on one horny foot, then on the
other, chanting as it frisked:
“I am what makes the kids jump, the kittens
tumble, and the children dance.”
“Are you then a sprite?” asked Kitty.
The elfish being laughed louder, showing all
its white teeth. Kitty thought it now looked
more like an imp, as he went on skipping and
chanting.
“I make the magpies steal; I make the goats
butt; I make the children disobey.”
Saying this it ran up the tree again, caught
at one of the branches, and swung itself backward
and forward.
Kitty felt a little afraid on hearing that last
speech; but she began to laugh again as she
watched the creature darting gay as the birds
or the pretty wildlings of the wood.
The next moment it scampered down.
“Catch!” it cried, tapping her on the shoulder,
and starting off at a run.
Clack! clack! went its bounding heels. The
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
sound set those of Kitty bounding in pursuit.
It was the merriest race. She chased her elfish
play-fellow round and round the meadow; but
she could never catch him. He always escaped
her; tossing back his curly black hair and tiny
horns. Still they scampered about until Kitty
was quite giddy with play.
All at once the creature stopped short, and
said:
“I know Johnnie. Come, let us look for
Johnnie.”
“For Johnnie!” cried Kitty, bewildered.
“Where shall we look for him?”
“In Naughty Children Land, of course!” he
answered.
“Oh! Naughty Children Land! Naughty
Children Land!” repeated Kitty, who vaguely
felt as if she knew the place.
“I am sure Johnnie was naughty. You are
naughty. I’ll bring you where all the naughty
children are!” The elfin having stretched
itself on the ground, put its elbows on the
grass and its chin on its brown hands.
Kitty sat down opposite.
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
“Is the naughtiest
child there?”
she asked eagerly.
.if h
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.if-
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.sp 2
[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
“The naughtiest!—yes, the very naughtiest.
The greediest; the vainest; the mischievousest,”
answered her elfin comrade, kicking up
its heels.
“Are they punished?” asked Kitty.
“Punished! No, they are petted!” the
queer creature replied, rolling itself round and
round with laughing.
“I think I should like to go,” said Kitty.
“Come along; I’ll take you. It is the most
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
comical place you ever saw;” and the goat-legged
being sprang to its feet.
Kitty got up.
Her play-fellow opened the wicket-gate, and
they passed out together into a broad and
flowery path hand in hand.
Skip, skip, down the path they went together.
Skip, skip, through a lovely wood where
grew all Kitty’s favorite flowers. Honeysuckles
garlanded the way, and thrust out
their waxen blossoms like fingers to catch
them as they passed. Wild roses, that looked
like fallen stars on the bushes; little pools of
blue hyacinths, hosts of golden king-cups, ox-lips,
and daisies lined the road.
Skip, skip, past a stream on which the water-lilies
floated. Dragon-flies darted zigzag like
jewels writing on the air. Butterflies hovered,
birds sang. Red squirrels ran up trees and
stopped cracking their nuts to look at them.
A gray field-mouse peered out, moving its tiny
mouth incessantly as if talking to itself. The
trees rustled; the shadows waved as the breeze
rocked the boughs.
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
Skip, skip, first on one cloven foot and one
tiptoe, then on the other cloven foot and the
other tiptoe, went Kitty’s guide and Kitty followed.
Suddenly they came to the oddest place Kitty
had ever seen. It was right in the center of the
wood on the other side of a ditch. They paused
to look at it.
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV||NAUGHTY CHILDREN LAND.
.sp 2
It was an extraordinary looking place. Kitty
thought it was the queerest place she had ever
seen. It had a tumbled-about, pulled-about
appearance, for the ground was all in mounds
and holes, and the roots of the trees bulged
bare from the sides of the banks. Presently
there came a sound of screaming and shouting.
Above these dismal cries Kitty fancied she
heard the sound of smacking.
“Is that Naughty Children Land?” she asked.
Her play-fellow did not answer.
She turned to look for him, but the queer
creature was gone. Kitty was alone. “Extraordinary!”
muttered Kitty. “It must be
Naughty Children Land,” she continued. It
was not at all difficult to get into Naughty Children
Land; just a step down a bank, a jump
over a ditch, and Kitty was in it.
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
She made a few steps forward. The ground
was covered with broken toys. Battered,
smashed, noseless, eyeless, hairless dollies;
tops without a spin in them; whips without
handles, drums without heads; torn picture-books,
blotted copy-books, mangled lesson-books,
their pages miserably fluttering about.
.if h
.il fn=i060.jpg w=600px id=i060
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
Queer dull little birds, with one feather only
for a tail, flew here and there, uttering melancholy
chirps. “Tweet—tweet!” they cried.
“Hi—ss—hiss” shrieked a cat, making an ∾ of
his thin body, and waving a tail that appeared
to have been pulled and pulled till it was more
like a bell-rope than anything else.
But what attracted Kitty’s attention was a
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
group of little girls, sitting with their shoulders
up to their ears, their chins in their hands, their
hair falling over their eyes. They would have
been very pretty but for their frowning eyebrows,
their puckered foreheads, their tumbled
hair, their under lips, that had stuck out so
long that now they always stuck out. Every
now and then these dismal children gave a big
spiteful sob, and their faces were smeared with
dirty tears.
“What is the matter? Why do you look so
miserable?” asked Kitty.
At first the woebegone children drew down
their eyebrows more closely, and stuck their
under lips further out. Then in a sing-song,
sob-broken voice, raising their shoulders still
nearer to their ears, burying their chins deeper
in their hands, making wryer faces, they sang
in a chorus:
.pm verse-start
“Yes, we can, we shall, we will.
Who’s to make us smile and play?
No—we must be wretched still.
Sulky are we?—So you say.
No, we will not, no, we shall not,
No, we will not laugh or play.
.pm verse-end
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
.pm verse-start
“Do we mope and do we scowl?
What a lot you seem to know.
P’r’aps you’d like to hear us howl;
Pray, if you don’t like it—go.
No, we will not, no, we shall not,
No, we will not laugh or play.
.pm verse-end
.if h
.il fn=i062.jpg w=600px id=i062
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
.pm verse-start
“If it suits us best to mutter,
Lift the shoulders, hang the head;
All that you will hear us utter
Is what we’ve already said.
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
No, we will not, no, we shall not,
No, we will not laugh or play.”
.pm verse-end
“Well, I never heard of any one yet liking
to be miserable all the day long,” said Kitty
with a smile that grew broader and broader as
she looked at the dismal, dejected group. But
they took no further notice of her. She stood
hesitating and watching. Should she jump
back over the ditch and go to look for that elf,
or should she go on?
The children still kept up their doleful
chant.
“I am sure I shall find the naughtiest child
in this place,” thought Kitty, “and I should so
like to see it. Of course I’ll find my way back.
It will be quite easy. Those broken toys will
guide me, and those little girls,” she went on,
with a twinkle in her eyes, “who are determined
to be wretched will still be here. They do not
seem inclined to run away.”
Kitty walked on. Certainly it was the
most extraordinary place that could be imagined.
Through the trees she could see houses.
All the windows seemed to have broken panes;
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
fat, cross children looked out; the gardens
seemed to be a tangle of thistles and weeds.
More broken toys, more blotted copy-books,
more torn picture-books; everywhere weeping,
howling, shouting. She could see no one here;
probably all were sitting at home crying. It
was as if everybody was crying in the place.
There were plaintive cries, and angry cries, and
lazy, nothing-else-to-do cries. There were cries
like old street organs that had lost the beginnings
and ends of their tunes, and still went
round and round, “piano, crescendo, piano,
crescendo,” as the music-books have it. There
were cries like bagpipes in a rage, shrill, blustering,
furious; there were cries like bagpipes
that had caught a cold and were going to
sneeze.
Kitty’s blue eyes twinkled as she listened to
these weepings. “Those children ought all to
be whipped and put to bed,” she said severely.
“That would brighten them up.”
Through that chorus of cries she distinguished
barks—not jovial, satisfied, inquisitive
barks—but snarls, and growls, and angry,
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
frightened yappings. She heard fierce mews
and hissings also—every now and then lean
cats ran along at full speed, their ears lying
back, their eyes full of a wild, hunted light.
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“Pussy! pussy!” said Kitty softly as a black
creature dashed past
her. It whisked up a
tree, and glared at her
with eyes like green
lamps. Kitty thought
of the pussy at home,
of his sleek fur coat,
his comfortable ways.
“Pussy! pussy!” she
said again in her most
winning voice.
“Hi—ss!” answered the cat, ruffling up all
his fur and glaring at her spitefully.
“A most unamiable, disagreeable cat! He
ought to be whipped and put to bed also,”
said Kitty, and she marched on with an offended
air.
Birds which looked as if they were always
molting watched her as she passed, presenting
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
a most dejected appearance with their heads
very much on one side.
“Poor birdies—birdies!” whispered Kitty
softly.
At the first step she made in their direction
they flew off with as much flutter as their
feeble wings could make.
“I wonder have I grown horrid to look at,
that they are all so frightened at me!” muttered
Kitty. She felt her cheeks, her nose. Her
nose seemed to be the same round little nose
inclined to point upward, her cheeks felt plump
and soft.
All at once something cold dropped on the
nape of her neck, just behind her ear. Kitty
put up her hand and took hold of a goggle-eyed
frog. “Oh, oh, oh!” she cried with a
shiver, throwing it away.
“Ha, ha, ha!” shouted a little boy, dancing
round and round.
He was the queerest little lad she had ever
seen. He had short legs, and a queer little fat
figure, and queer little pointed ears; queer
little curls fell over his forehead, and he had
queer yellow eyes.
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
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He looked so funny, putting one in mind of
something between a monkey, a squirrel, and a
boy, that Kitty after a moment began to laugh.
It seemed to her that Cousin Charlie might
look like that at his very naughtiest.
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
“Make friends,” said the boy, stopping his
dance. “Give me a kiss.”
“Certainly not,” answered Kitty; “but perhaps
I may shake hands with you.”
She put out her hand, cautiously watching
the boy, who had a gleam in his eyes she did
not quite like. He approached with a hop and
a jump.
“There’s a sweet for you,” he cried, depositing
a spider on Kitty’s palm.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she shivered, gathering herself
into a little trembling mass of disgust, skipping
about and shaking her finger tips to make sure
she had dropped the spider.
The boy laughed louder and louder; that was
evidently his idea of fun.
“You are the disagreeablest, mischievousest
boy,” said Kitty, turning away, and trying to
make her words sound as long and severe as she
could. “You deserve to be where you are, in
Naughty Children Land. I am going to leave
it.”
She blinked her eyes to prevent the tears
from falling. She would not for all the world
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
that the queer boy should see he had made her
cry.
As she turned away he sang lustily after
her:
.pm verse-start
“Up and down, and round and round,
Turn to left and turn to right,
Never will the way be found
By weary walking day and night.”
.pm verse-end
Kitty pretended not to hear. She walked
back the way she fancied she had come. Before,
behind, on every side of her stretched the
tumbled-about land, and every untidy side
looked exactly like the other. Was she really
going only round and round? Presently she
found herself standing once more close to the
queer little boy. There were a number of other
children about the place now. They were having
high games, throwing each other into a
duckweed pond, full of frogs that loudly
croaked their vexation; or they were trying to
make each other slip into a bed of nettles, or
sit down on a wasp’s nest.
Bu—uzz! bu—uzz! went the wasps in a
rage.
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
The children laughed louder and louder, till
they fairly screamed with merriment.
The queer little boy sat by himself, striking
one stone against another. Out of the dark,
dull stones the sparks flew, golden and beautiful.
As they flew up he laughed.
“Listen, I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, winking
one yellow eye at Kitty. “I am practicing
to set the world on fire.”
“The world—on—fire!” she repeated, quite
breathless.
The queer boy nodded his head.
“Listen; the sparks will catch the trees in
the wood. There will be a hiss, a flame. How
the people will run, scamper, and tumble!
They will tumble about like ninepins in their
fright; and how their hair will catch fire!
But the flames will run faster. Hurrah, what
a bonfire that will be!”
He sprang to his feet, he leaped about,
swinging his arms; his teeth flashed. Kitty
thought he looked like a small tiger.
“But you would be burned yourself,” she
said, with a gleam in her eyes.
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
“Oh, I am brave! I don’t mind pain!” said
the boy, beginning to strike the stones once
more with a fine flourish. Bang went the uplifted
stone down upon his thumb, and hit it
with a great thump. The boy set up a roar,
like that of forty cross babies.
“Oh! o-oh! O-o-o-h-h! Daddy Coax—Da-addy
Coax!” he shouted, flinging down the
stones and running off with all the speed of
his legs.
“Daddy Coax! I wonder who Daddy Coax
is? It sounds a nice name!” thought Kitty.
Then she continued: “Setting the world on
fire! with the dear little birds, and the pussies,
and the faithful dogs in it! And there would
be the old people, and the crippled children
who can’t run!”
The thought of Johnnie seemed to knock at
her heart, yet she did not remember distinctly.
She seemed to hear the eager, uneven thump
of his crutch. Again her little heart ached
with the confused sense of pain. She walked
on faster.
She made her way toward a wood that
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
seemed the only pretty spot near. As she approached
it she nearly fell over a wee girl who
was kneeling, watching a lovely butterfly, with
wings like quivering flowers, twinkling and
hovering near the ground. As it rested to
stretch its bright body for a moment, down
came the clinched little fist and crushed the
happy winged creature.
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“Oh, how could you?” cried Kitty.
“Don’t you love to kill fies and butterfies
and see them wiggle?” asked the child. She
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
was so small she could not speak plain yet;
but her bright black eyes twinkled, and she
showed her wicked little teeth.
Before Kitty could answer she heard the
tramp of small feet running. The next moment
she was surrounded by a crowd of children,
who cried: “Come along, come along!
We are going to rob a nest. There are two
new-born birds with yellow beaks, and there
are three blue-speckled eggs. The mother bird
is sitting on them. The father bird is watching.
We’ll kill him with a stone.”
“We’ll blow the eggs and string them for a
necklace,” cried a girl.
“I won’t come!” exclaimed Kitty indignantly.
“How can you be so wicked?”
A pitiless hand seized hers. It was so strong
in its unkindness it pulled her along.
“Let me go! let me go!” entreated Kitty as
the cruel children pushed and pulled her.
Run she must; run with the children. Oh!
the cruel children, with hands strong to hurt,
with feet nimble to give pain, with shrill voices
to jeer and mock.
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
Presently Kitty saw a hedge, and in it a
pretty nest, so cunningly built. It lay among
the fresh green leaves. A baby prince could
not have a daintier cradle, set among shadier
curtains, than had those callow birds. The
father bird was fluttering above uttering cries
of reproach. A thousand other birds were
singing; Kitty understood their song.
They sang of their love for their pretty nestlings,
of their pride in the nest they built in
the sweet spring weather.
“Twe—et! twe—et! bur—rrr!” sang the
father bird, with all his heart in his throat.
“Shame upon the boys and girls who find sport
in robbing the homes we and our mates make
so patiently!”
“Twe—et! twe—et! Save my little ones,”
piteously cried the mother bird.
Her head showed just above the border of
the nest. Brave mother bird! she did not
stir as the children came nearer. Out of
the green twilighty hedge her watching eyes
shone wistfully. Kitty thought they turned
upon her. Their light seemed to burn into her
heart.
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
“Twe—et! twe—et! Save my little ones!
Save my little ones!” entreated the mother
bird.
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Then Kitty sprang from the children. She
placed herself between them and that part of
the hedge where stood the nest. She defended
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
its approach with all her might. She waved
her brave little arms like the sails of a windmill
in a tempest, pushing down the children
as they came. Pitiful little arms, eager to
comfort, not to hurt. The father bird did his
best to help in the battle. He flew against
the invaders. He fluttered his wings in their
faces. He pecked at their noses, at their hair.
“Twe—et, bu—urr, bu—urr! Shame,
shame!” he cried louder and louder.
The mother bird kept up a piteous twe—et.
This touching little noise, that sounded between
a sob and a prayer to be delivered from
the cruel children, seemed to give Kitty
strength. But what could she do against so
many? Alone against a crew of spoilers!
She shut her eyes as the children dragged her
from the place she had defended. She heard
them clambering through the hedge and the
crack of the twigs. She heard the sorrow of
all the birds—the screech of the father, the
wail of the mother. Then came a wild hurrah!
and she knew the children had their hands on
the nest. The hurrah stopped all of a sudden.
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
Kitty looked up. Two severe-looking old
dames, carrying birch rods, had suddenly appeared
on the scene.
Whack! whack! went the rods.
“Oh, oh, oh! Daddy Coax! Daddy Coax!”
cried the children, running away. They might
be very brave laying siege to birds’ nests; but
they could not run away fast enough from
these birch rods.
The stern-looking old ladies pounced upon
the leaders of the gang, and held them firmly
tucked under their arms. Kitty saw the black-eyed
child who liked to kill “fies” and “butterfies.”
As she stood looking, the severe dames suddenly
disappeared, carrying off the children as
they vanished.
“Extraordinary!” muttered Kitty, rubbing
her eyes.
She looked to the right, to the left; they
were gone! “I can’t understand it! They
were here a moment ago—and who is Daddy
Coax? How shall I find out where he lives?”
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V||“TO DADDY COAX’S HOUSE.”
.sp 2
“I shall take you there,” said a voice.
Kitty turned round and saw a little girl
standing with her eyes modestly cast on the
ground.
“I think I saw you with the cruel children
who were going to rob the nest,” she said
bluntly.
“No, indeed, I never hurt anything,” answered
the girl. As she said this a pimple
came out on her lips. “I never hurt anything,”
she continued, in a high voice—“never. If a
mosquito or a flea bite me, I let them bite. I
say, ‘Poor things, they are hungry; I am their
supper, I am their dinner.’”
“You are good!” said Kitty, very much impressed,
but still with a rather doubtful tone.
“Yes, I am very good,” said the little girl,
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
with a sigh, and as she said this another pimple
came out, this time on her nose.
Kitty could not speak, she was so surprised
at finding this good little girl here. They
walked on through the wood, and here presently
they heard singing. It was a bright tune, and
Kitty distinguished the words:
.pm verse-start
“What a lovely, lovely face
Peeping slyly up at me,
Mocking when I make grimace.
Can it be? Can it be?
Yes, it is my own I see.”
.pm verse-end
They had come to a place where there was a
pool set round with blossoms and reeds, like a
mirror in a charming frame. All around it
a number of little girls were kneeling, bending
over, smiling, bowing to themselves, making
the most extraordinary grimaces as they decked
themselves with flowers, and talked and sang
to their own reflections.
A fat, green frog and his family sat on a
water lily leaf; all the frogs hopped and bowed
as they looked over its border, croaking all the
time, as much as to say:
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
“Look at us; admire us! Are we not
beautiful creatures?”
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“Who are
those children,
are they idiots?”
asked Kitty in an
affrighted whisper.
“They are worse than idiots; they are vain,”
sighed her guide.
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
The children were far too much occupied
gazing at themselves to see any one else. They
kept on murmuring lovingly to their reflections
down in the water.
.pm verse-start
“Is that not a lovely smile?
Lips of coral, teeth like pearls,
Nose of truly Grecian style,
Eyes of sapphire, silken curls,”
.pm verse-end
.ni
sang one softly, continuing to smile to herself.
.pm verse-start
“Such a nose
No one knows,
Two lips like a budding rose
Placed for pretty nose to smell,
Pinky ear shaped like a shell,”
.pm verse-end
.ni
crooned a second, who was making grimaces in
her efforts to kiss her own face.
.pm verse-start
“Oh where, and oh where
Is a girl whose hair
Runs to curl? How fair!
How fine! see it shine!
Sweet curl! darling girl!”
.pm verse-end
.ni
a third sang joyously, putting a wreath on her
head.
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
.pm verse-start
“A silken robe,
A spreading train
Rustling there and back again;
A veil of lace,
A gracious face,
A queen, a queen, and fit to reign,”
.pm verse-end
.ni
joined in another, promenading up and down
and craning her neck to see the effect of her
dress at the back.
.pi
Then together all the children sang:
.pm verse-start
“Who cares for work!
Who cares for play!
Don’t disturb me now, I pray;
There is no prettier sight for me
Than when my charming self I see.”
.pm verse-end
“Croak, croak, croak,” joined in the frogs,
jumping in accompaniment to the song.
Kitty was never to forget the sight; the
pretty, shining pool surrounded by beautiful
flowers; the speckled frogs gazing at themselves
affectionately over the edge of the lily
leaf; the little girls grimacing, smiling, and
singing to themselves so lovingly. It all seemed
so droll that she burst out laughing.
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
Suddenly she stopped, for she heard her
laugh taken up by everything around her; up
in the trees, down from the sky, all through
the reeds and flowers. Everything was laughing
with Kitty’s laugh.
She stopped, and still the laugh was going
on. Ha!ha!ha! Ho!ho!ho! As if everything
had been inwardly laughing until then,
but had not known how to express laughter
until she gave it a voice.
The children started to their feet; they
looked around, they saw Kitty, and were rushing
toward her in their anger, when all at
once, but whence Kitty could not tell, there
appeared the two severe old women waving
their birch rods.
“Hoity! toity!” they muttered, laying hold
of as many of the children as they could pounce
upon. “You’ll have enough of your faces by
Christmas Day in Punishment Land.”
They strode off so quickly with the children
tucked under their arms that Kitty could not
tell which way they had gone, any more than
she could tell how they had come.
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
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“I am not vain. I never look at myself in
the glass,” remarked the little girl in her high
voice; as she said this another pimple came out,
this time on her forehead, over her right eye.
“When I brush my hair, or pin on my collar, I
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
shut my eyes not to see my face. Not even to
have a peep.”
“I wonder,” said Kitty, watching with great
interest the pimples spreading and spreading,
“how you ever came to Naughty Children
Land when you are so good.”
“I come to teach the children to be good,”
answered her guide with a smug sigh.
Another pimple, larger than the others, was
just coming out on her left cheek, when Kitty
gave a start and the demure little girl a scream.
One of the old ladies suddenly appeared behind
the latter’s back—how she had come there was
the wonder; she tucked the boaster under her
arm, and marched off at a tremendous rate, with
her captive screaming and wriggling in the
wildest passion.
“I am sure she was not a bit good, and I am
sure she was a great goose—never killing a flea
or taking a peep at herself in the glass,” muttered
Kitty, straining her eyes to discover which
way they had gone.
“I wonder where the old women take them?”
she continued.
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
Look which way she would she could not see
them. They had disappeared clean out of sight
before she could have said “Daddy Coax.”
“It certainly is Vanish Land as well as
Naughty Children Land,” thought Kitty dejectedly.
“How can I ever find Daddy Coax?”
She perceived she was now standing on the
edge of the wood and at the entrance of a lane.
The lane seemed to lead to Untidy Village.
She could just see the houses with the broken
window-panes, the weedy gardens, the ground
all covered with broken toys and torn books.
Kitty took heart. “I’ll run down the lane.
I am sure Daddy Coax lives in the village.”
She had not gone many steps down the lane
when she came upon a party of boys and girls
having a picnic. Gracious! how they gobbled;
it was a sight to see. They doubled up whole
buns into their mouths, crammed down tarts
and lumps of cakes. Their cheeks were puffed
out, their noses hidden. Every now and then
they gave a grasp, stroked themselves up and
down, and set to again.
“Could you please tell me the way to Daddy
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
Coax’s house?” asked Kitty politely, trying to
look as if she were not at all astonished at the
quantity the children were eating or their
manner of gobbling.
They said something that sounded between a
snort, a sneeze, and a mouthful of pudding, and
went on cramming.
Thin birds hovered above them, lean dogs
and cats peered hungrily at the feast; but when
the birds came down to pick up the crumbs, or
the dogs advanced with an entreating whine,
and the cats slowly with glittering eyes, the
gobblers, with a hiss, waved their arms and
frightened away the beggars.
“I think it is perfectly disgusting to be so
greedy,” said Kitty, turning her back upon the
picnickers. She walked off slowly. She could
not bear the sight of the hungry animals repulsed
by these children, who looked all fat
cheeks.
No wonder the dogs she met appeared to be
always watching their opportunity to bite
somebody’s legs; that the cats seemed to have
no purr in them; the birds no sweet thanksgiving
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
song; that the crests of the cocks and
hens hung depressed like bits of red rags out
of an old-clothes shop.
“I am sure these fowls have no merry
thoughts,” said Kitty, trying to make a joke
just because she felt so miserable.
A fat small boy, with cheeks the color and
shape of suet-dumplings, was sitting apart by
himself, gazing with a melancholy air at a tart
that he had nibbled all round.
“I cannot finish it,” he said to Kitty, looking
sadly at her. “I have shaken myself, but
it makes no difference. There is no more room
inside me.”
“Never mind, you’ll eat it by and by, when
you are hungry again. It will taste better
then,” said Kitty encouragingly.
“It could not taste better,” said the boy
sadly. “It was a beautiful tart, all jam and
almonds, with custard on the top. A lovely
tart. I have eaten thirteen, all different. I
feel a little sick. Ah!” he went on with a
sigh that almost blew his tart away, “what a
dreadful thing to have all those good things to
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
eat and not to be hungry! I wish I were always
hungry,
and had
always something
good
to eat.”
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“But then
you would do nothing but eat,” remarked
Kitty, turning away.
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
“Nothing but eat tarts and cakes and sweets,
never feel sick, never be interrupted; that must
be heaven,” said the boy, nodding drowsily.
Kitty was leaving him with the toss of her
head, the firm closing of her lips, and dilating
of her nostrils that was her usual way of showing
indignation, when she recollected that she
did not know her way to Daddy Coax’s house.
“Please before you go to sleep,” she said,
steadily looking over the boy’s head, but trying
to make her voice sound pleasant, “would you
tell me the way to Daddy Coax’s house?”
“Yes, I know it; it is close to the sweet-stuff
shop. Straight on.” The boy made an effort
to get up, but down he sprawled again. “I
cannot walk just now, or I would go with you
as far as the sweet-stuff shop. There is lovely
barley-sugar and plum-cake, and lots of raisins.
Bath-buns stuck all over with lumps of sugar,
and jam-puffs. Which do you like best, jam-puffs
or plum-cake?”
“Neither,” said Kitty, jerking out the word
and jerking up her chin.
“Neither!” feebly echoed the fat boy, his
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
cheeks quivering with surprise. “Bath-buns,
then?”
“You are very dull,” interrupted Kitty with
flashing eyes. “Whichever way I turn the
conversation you turn it back to tarts and
cakes.”
“Con—ver—sa—tion! What is that? Is
it plum-preserves or straw—ber—ry?” and he
nodded asleep with a snore.
“Conversation—preserves! He is stupid!”
said Kitty, walking away. She tried to laugh,
just to keep from feeling miserable.
Naughty Children Land was a dull, ugly
place. She had changed her mind concerning
it. She wished, with all the might of her
little heart, she had never put her foot inside
it, and she was glad Johnnie had not come with
her.
As she came nearer to the end of the lane
she could more plainly see the village of which
she had caught only glimpses. There were the
houses with the broken window-panes, through
which she could see the smashed crockery and
furniture, and the cross, fat children looking
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
out. There were the gardens all a-tangle of
thistles and weeds. There were more frightened
animals, more shrieking, squabbling children,
kicking and growing purple in the face.
There were the do-nothing children dolefully
crying among their broken toys and their torn
lesson-books. There were the mischievous
children playing pranks upon everybody. All
were unhappy! Coming, Kitty could not tell
whence, and going, she did not know whither,
appearing here—there—everywhere—as if out
of the air, were the stern old ladies, pouncing
upon the children and disappearing with them.
Kitty now perceived a group of little girls
who looked tattered and torn, and who seemed
to be playing at some game. They were running
about in all directions, looking here—looking
there—emptying their pockets—banging
their sides—searching the ground—stopping
suddenly and tapping their foreheads, as
if to find something there.
They were in rags, but they had good-humored,
slobbery, dirty faces.
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you;
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
but could you tell me the way to Daddy Coax’s
house?” Kitty asked in her best-company-manners
voice, for she felt this was her last chance—no
one else could tell her if these children
did not.
“Daddy Coax! oh, yes, certainly—we know
it quite well. Turn on your right—no—no—turn
on your left. No; keep straight along.”
“Daddy Coax’s house! Why, of course—it’s
somewhere.”
They all spoke together, or rather each before
the other had finished, so their words sounded
as if treading on each other’s heels. They all
pointed as they spoke, first one way, then the
other. At last they all tapped their foreheads,
and looked at each other, as if for inspiration.
Then they returned to their game. What was
the game? Was it hunt the slipper?
It was hunt the slipper, hunt the handkerchief,
hunt the pencil, hunt everything!
“There’s my boot!” cried one. “It had got
into my pocket.”
“I have found my handkerchief!” shouted
another triumphantly. “It had crumpled itself
up in my sandwich-box.”
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
“There is my geography-book, oh, dear! oh,
dear! It had gone and thrown itself into the
slop-pail.”
“Did any one ever see so many blots?” dolefully
muttered one little girl, turning over the
pages of her copy-book. “It is all the fault of
that paper. It attracts the ink so.”
Kitty rather liked this way of explaining the
presence of blots. She thought there was something
in it.
“Clang! clang!” went a bell. The untidy
children rushed about, looking here, looking
there, more furiously than ever, and as they
searched they sang faster and faster:
.pm versel-start
“‘Where is it? where is it? where is it?
Where can it have got to?’ we say.
Only just turn your head, and you miss it.
Where’s this thing, and that thing, and t’other?
Oh, dear, what a terrible bother
That things should be always astray.
Where is it? where is it? we say.
They were all of them here just this minute,
Yet nothing will keep in its place,
As to ‘order’—just try to begin it.
Here’s the soap in a shoe, and the hammer,
The taffy put inside the grammar,
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
The boot that was wanting a lace.
Oh, don’t talk to us of disgrace,
For nothing will keep in its place!
It’s hurry and scuttle and race;
That’s the way
Every day.
Where is it? where is it? we say.”
.pm versel-end
Singing the last words, they ran toward the
village. As they ran they dropped their books,
their pencils, their hats, their gloves.
“Well, they are untidy,” said Kitty.
She remained with her eyes round open with
surprise. She was just on the threshold of a
pretty house which she had not perceived before.
There was a porch before the door, with
a creeper over it; and under it an old gentleman
was sitting fast asleep in a garden arm-chair,
with a handkerchief over his knees.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI||DADDY COAX.
.sp 2
Kitty stood looking at him, not quite knowing
what to do, for she did not like to wake
him.
He looked such a dear old gentleman. He
wore a snuff-colored coat and brown breeches,
and a wig. Although his eyes were shut, and
his mouth was open, and some mischievous
child had given his wig a cock on one side, he
had yet the pleasantest face. His pockets
bulged out with sweets and toys: the head of a
wooden horse peeped out of one, that of a dolly
looked out of the other.
“I am sure he is Daddy Coax,” said Kitty to
herself joyously.
The little boy, with the queer curls and the
queer yellow eyes and the queer short legs,
whom she had met on entering Naughty Children
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
Land, was standing a few paces from the
old man. He held a small looking-glass and
caught the sunlight upon it. As he waved the
mirror about a spot of light like a golden bird
or a butterfly danced up and down. Sometimes
it rested on the sleeper’s nose, sometimes on one
eye, then on the other, sometimes on his forehead.
Every time the spot of light rested on
his face the old man moved in his sleep, lifted
his hand, and tried to brush it away. Just as
Kitty came up a little girl began to tickle his
ear with a straw, and the spot of light danced
so dazzlingly before his eyes that the sleeper
jumped up with a start, wildly waved his handkerchief,
beating the air with it. Then all at
once he fell flat on the ground, tripped up by
a cord that had been tied across the path.
When this happened the children roared with
laughter and ran indoors. Kitty went to the
old gentleman as he lay moaning, gently helped
him to rise, and led him back to his arm-chair.
His wig had fallen on the ground; she picked
it up; he looked very odd with his bald head;
but Kitty pursed up her lips not to smile, for
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
she feared to hurt his feelings. She placed the
wig on his head, made it straight, and then she
patted the old man’s cheek.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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“Why, who is this? who is this?” he asked,
peering into Kitty’s face. He had rosy cheeks,
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
gentle eyes full of a gay light, and his lips
trembled as if ready to break out into smiles
and laughter.
“No, no; that is not a naughty child. Daddy
Coax knows better than that.”
He shook his head so violently, to show he
knew what he was saying, that his wig went
first on one side, then on the other, and at last
it tumbled right over his eyebrows. He did
not seem to mind how his wig went. Kitty
thought it looked like a thatched roof.
“Then you are Daddy Coax!” she said.
“To be sure I am, honey! To be sure!”
the old man answered, laughing, and the
laugh was so joyous that it set Kitty laughing
also.
“They call me Daddy Coax because I pat
the children’s heads when they are sobbing,
and because I keep school with toys and
sweets and stories instead of lessons.” He
took out his snuff-box and took a pinch; then
he sneezed and sneezed till his head sank
upon his chest, and his wig came right over
his eyes.
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! Those children have
put pepper into my snuff-box!” He laughed;
nothing seemed to put out Daddy Coax.
“I wonder you live with them!” said Kitty.
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[Illustration]
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“I used to live in Good Children Land,” he
answered, pushing back his wig and setting it
all awry; “I was happy there; but you see I
could not bear the thought of the naughty
children. They must be so miserable. So I
made up my mind to come and live among
them, and whistle sweet tunes to them, and tell
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
them pretty stories that would put beautiful
dreams into their hearts, and give them toys.
Bribe the little darlings to be good.”
“They are not very good to you,” said Kitty,
looking at his tattered coat.
“No; I am often a mass of misery and rags,”
said the old man; and as he looked at her a
moist brightness like tears came into his eyes.
He showed the skirts of his coat-tails all torn,
his pockets ragged, his hands scratched. “I
sometimes think I’ll go back to Good Children
Land,” he continued. “Then I say they don’t
want me there so much as they do here. So
here I remain, and I don’t mind being scratched
and pulled about, if only I keep one child out
of Punishment Land.”
“Punishment Land!” said Kitty. “What is
that?”
“Oh, it is a dreadful place!” said Daddy
Coax, shaking his head till his wig slipped
right off, and then he gave it a pull over to his
right eyebrow. “I long to keep the children
out of it. The little dears, I am sometimes
afraid of them, when they are getting angry,
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
and going to have a cry. They tell me I spoil
them, and somehow the children don’t love me
as I love them; but I have not the heart to see
a dear little thing punished—not if it tears my
coat-tails. Oh! I don’t know why they won’t
love me. They say the little dears won’t respect
me, and they say a dreadful thing, that one may
be unjust by kindness as well as by severity.
It often makes me sad.” Then he gave a little
chirruping laugh.
“Ah! it makes me happy to coax the little
dears out of their tantrums and their passions.
There is great virtue in a big burnt-almond, my
honey! Have one!”
He took out a transparent amber box full of
bon-bons, and opened it.
“I think I had better wait till I am naughty
to have one,” laughed Kitty. The old man
laughed also, as if Kitty’s joke delighted him.
“Come and see Daddy Coax’s school-room,”
he said, getting up.
Kitty put her hand into his little plump old
hand, and they went indoors. The room was
full of children.
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
It was not like a school-room, nor like a play-room
either. It was more like quarreling-room,
screaming-room, sobbing-room.
Where the children’s hands could reach the
room was spoiled and disordered; but above
that it was as pretty as a room in a fairy tale,
or as a Christmas-tree turned into a room.
Bright balls shone there, some of silver, some
of glass, rainbow-colored, like solidified soap-bubbles.
There were bags of sweets, toys,
flags in every corner. Wonderful shells, with
golden ears, strange seaweed, and branching
coral; flowers bloomed high up in the windows,
and far out of the children’s reach in a
safe place hung a cage full of birds. There
were kaleidoscopes and musical boxes and pictures
on the walls.
“Little angels! Hush—hush! Look, here’s
a little friend come to see you,” said Daddy
Coax, in a voice that was gay and soft as a
bird chirruping in a tree, and calling to its
young to come out into the pleasant morning.
Only a roar of confused voices answered.
All the children were addressing the old man—all
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
were speaking together; all were trying
to talk loudest; all trying to talk quickest;
all telling tales of each other.
“Hush—hush!” said Daddy Coax, putting
up his finger. “Little lambs ought to be good.
Eh!” he went on, patting his pocket with his
disengaged hand in a suggestive manner.
“Look—toys—sweets—all for my little darlings—a
fairing for each. Hey now!” and he
waved his hand above his head, “we’ll be as
merry and good as if it were Christmas Day,
and everybody’s birthday together besides.”
Perhaps the children had already had so
many sweets and good things that they did not
care for more. Not one look of thanks greeted
the old man gazing down upon them with an
anxious smile that seemed to say: “Be good,
my little darlings. My heart thinks only of
making you good by making you happy.”
The next moment there was a grand rush of
children making for Daddy Coax’s pockets, with
cries of “I! I! I!—me! me! me!” The rush
turned to a battle royal between the children
who came first and the children behind, who
were hurrying up.
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
“Hush! hush! naughty to quarrel!” said
Daddy Coax, feebly trying to make his way
through the combatants, dealing loving strokes
on rough heads, and uttering tender reproaches
in a cooing voice. “Let me get to my arm-chair
and we’ll have a distribution of treasures.
Hullo!” he exclaimed, bending over a roaring
boy and patting him gently on the back. “Poor
laddie—Daddy Coax’s laddie—and he has been
hurt—he has—”
“No—o—o,” roared the boy louder, and
kick—kick—kick went his angry feet. “I am
not hurt. I am—in a fu—u—ry!”
“A fury! Oh! oh! naughty,” said Daddy
Coax, shaking his head till his wig was all in
a flurry of reproach.
“I wanted to see—what—made my tin frog—hop—and
I broke—the spring. It won’t hop
any—more,” roared the boy, and kick went his
feet, trying to kick Daddy Coax’s shins because
they were the nearest things to kick.
Daddy Coax began to fumble in his pocket,
and as he fumbled, louder grew the roarer’s
shouts; but he opened slits of eyes to see what
Daddy Coax was searching for.
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
Out came the amber box, and out of it a
crisp sugary almond.
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[Illustration]
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“There, that will sweeten the fury,” said
Daddy Coax, chuckling over his little joke.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
The crunching of the almond softened the
screams, and Daddy Coax winked at Kitty.
“Did I not tell you, honey, there was virtue
in a sweet?” he said, gleefully rubbing his
hands.
“I believe more in a whipping,” replied
Kitty with a gleam in her eyes.
Daddy Coax now made his way to a corner
of the room where stood a tiny bed. As he
bent over the child lying there, murmuring
“Poor little sick lamb,” his kind, foolish eyes
grew brightly pitying.
“I won’t take my medicine,” said the invalid,
shaking a resolute head on the pillow.
“Medicine will make Daddy Coax’s sick lamb
play again,” said the old man. He took up a
powder and spoon, and after he had mixed the
dose, “Good medicine first and jam after,” he
said in a persuasive voice, softly trying to get
the tip of the spoon inside the firmly closed
lips.
Out flashed a naughty hand from under the
coverlid, and away spun the medicine and the
spoon to the furthest corner of the room.
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
“Oh, naughty! naughty!” said poor Daddy
Coax, putting up his finger and trying to ruffle
his forehead into a frown. “If sick lamb be
naughty, sick lamb will have no jam.”
At this dreadful threat the sick face puckered
itself up, and out of the wide-open mouth
came a doleful howl.
Daddy Coax fell into a dreadful flurry; his
mild eyes grew full of pain. He took the child
out of its crib, rocked it soothingly in his arms,
murmuring softly:
“Sick lamb shall have all jam and no medicine.
All good jam and no naughty medicine.”
“All go—oo—od ja—am and no naugh—ty
medi—cine,” agreed the sick child with big
sobs.
Gently Daddy Coax put the invalid back
into its crib, went to the cupboard, and took
out the pot of raspberry jam. He looked
over his shoulder to make sure the child was
not looking, and cautiously Kitty saw him
drop the powder into the jelly and turn it
round and round until not a grain was to be
seen.
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
“Good jam!” he said, smacking his lips.
“Good jam!”
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[Illustration]
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“Good jam!” assented the sick child, opening
wide its mouth and smacking its lips louder
still.
“It was to make her take the medicine,” explained
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
Daddy Coax apologetically to Kitty.
“I cannot bear to hear a sick child cry. It is
sickness makes the little angel cross.”
“Little angel indeed!” replied Kitty shortly.
“I would have given her all medicine and no
jam.”
Kitty was growing severer and severer.
Holding her hand the old man trotted along
once more, struggling through the children, who
had recovered their good-humor, and were
rushing around him. He laughed feebly, he
patted their heads as they thumped him on the
back as if he were a drum, and squirted soapsuds
into his eyes. Poor Daddy Coax wiped
his eyes, sneezed, tried to look as if he enjoyed
the jokes and the drummings, and presently
nearly stumbled over a little girl who was
knocking her doll’s head against the floor.
Bang! bang! the tiny hand struck the ground
with the doll. Its nose was flattened out of
all likeness to a nose, its cheeks were cracked,
and its hair torn out.
“Dear! dear!” cried Daddy Coax. “What
has naughty dolly done?”
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
“She won’t get into her fock. She will put
her leg into the seeve of her fock instead of her
arm,” explained little spitfire; and bang! once
more went poor dolly’s face against the floor.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.if-
“Naughty dolly! naughty dolly!” cried
Daddy Coax indignantly, flicking dolly with a
corner of his handkerchief and then drawing a
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
fine new doll from his pocket, with red cheeks
and shining round eyes. “There’s a good dolly,
a pretty dolly, with its arms in its sleeves.”
But little spitfire only snorted at sight of the
new dolly, pushed away the gentle hand that
offered it, and went on banging the old doll
upon the floor.
Nothing that Daddy Coax could do would
please the “little angels,” as he called them.
“Little angels indeed!” thought Kitty severely.
“They are little imps.”
One little girl tumbled on her nose as she
was hastening along; she picked herself up,
and was giving her plump small figure a shake,
when Daddy Coax, with a cry and extended
arms, rushed toward her, dropping a slipper in
his haste. At sight of this offer of sympathy
the child lifted her voice and howled bitterly.
“Oh, the darling lamb!” cried Daddy Coax,
taking her into his arms. “Is she hurt—where
is she hurt? Show her old Daddy where she
is hurt?”
“Ded—ful—ly hurt on this knee!” sobbed
the little one, pulling up her frock and displaying
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
a plump rosy knee without a scratch.
“No! it’s a mistake—it’s on this one,” she
explained with bitterer sobs, showing the other
knee, that was as unbruised and unscratched as
its fellow.
“Yes, it’s a mistake,” chirped Daddy Coax
joyously, clasping the little one nearer.
“It—’s not—a—mistake—it’s my no—o—ose,”
roared the child in a deluge of tears, slapping
the kind old man’s cheek, and struggling
out of his arms.
“Daddy Coax’s school should be called the
place where children are taught to be naughty,”
Kitty remarked to herself.
At last Daddy Coax struggled up to the middle
of the room. He set Kitty standing on the
table, and looked round on the children with
his mild, kind, foolish eyes. There was some
thing almost like silence for a moment; a crowd
of small faces gazed at Kitty, who had never
before felt so many eyes fixed upon her.
“When a friend comes to see one,” said
Daddy Coax cheerily, “what ought we to do?
We ought to make it pleasant, for a friend’s
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
visit is better than cakes and sugar-plums.
This little girl—bless her—is a dear, good
little girl!”
“We don’t want her, then!” shouted a voice.
And all the children shouted: “We don’t want
her! we don’t want her!”
“Hush! hush! naughty!” said Daddy Coax,
putting up his finger and trying to frown.
“Little children are always good. They are
little angels.”
“That’s not true. We are not good, and we
don’t want to be!” shouted these spoiled children.
Daddy Coax stood looking round upon them
with a puzzled, helpless, piteous expression and
trembling lips, then he burst into his merry
laugh and said to Kitty, “There’s no flattering
them.”
Taking out of his pocket his box of sugar-plums,
“Look, look!” he went on. “In honor
of our guest I shall give you a comfit apiece.”
“Shall we tell her the stories of the pictures
round the room?” asked Daddy Coax after the
distribution of lollipops, as the children were
smacking their lips and staring at Kitty.
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
“No!” they cried with a sucking sound.
“No! But she has not seen the pictures
yet,” gently insisted Daddy Coax. He pointed
to one with his softly shaking finger. Kitty
thought she had seen that picture before. It
was that of a little girl sitting alone under the
shadow of a great wood, her hands crossed upon
her breast.
“She is so good, she is so innocent—bless
her! The picture is called after her the ‘Age
of Innocence,’” said Daddy Coax. “All nature
seems to love her. She thinks as she goes out
that the trees look at her, and the birds come
and sing to her in the early morning. The
flowers tell her what hour it is and what the
weather will be. No animal or insect is afraid
of her. As she goes out round her head hovers
a little cloud of butterflies. She looks about
her and wonders. The flocks of birds passing
away over her head to the north pole actually
seem to come down as she looks at them.
Lovely things with the sunshine upon their
backs—”
“That’s a dull story!” cried a boy’s voice.
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
“Dull story!”
“Dull story!” went round all the room.
“Shall we tell her the story of the kind
child, who gives her bit of cake to the hungry
child, who is gentle also with the sick and the
old, and how the pretty robin lights upon her
wrist, and its little whistle seems to say, ‘I
love you—I love you’?”
“Play the flute!” interrupted the same boy’s
voice.
“Yes, the flute! the flute!” echoed the children
in a chorus.
“They always like my flute,” Daddy Coax
whispered to Kitty with a pleased wink. “I
don’t take it out often—for next to the children
I love my flute.”
He drew from his breast-pocket a flute with
keys of ivory and wiped it softly on his coat-sleeve.
“I’ll play the lullaby of the wind to
the good children. The words and the music
came into my head last night as the wind rattled
against my window-panes. Listen, I’ll sing
you the words first—that is, what the wind
says through the flute to the good children.”
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
Nodding his head on one side, with one
finger up, swaying it softly to the measure, in a
thin cracked voice Daddy Coax hummed:
.pm verse-start
“When all the world is blind with sleep
And birds are silent in the trees,
Around the house I whisp’ring creep
And rustle in a rising breeze,
To make the music of your dreams
With twittling leaves and purling streams.
“But I can rise and I can roar,
Can hurl great waves upon the shore,
Bring shoals of buds and blossoms down,
And blow the country into town;
Can tear an oak tree from its root,
Or throstle through a fairy flute.”
.pm verse-end
“That’s enough! enough!” cried the children;
but Daddy Coax went on, marking the time
with his finger and his head:
.pm verse-start
“I like to twist the creaking cowl
And rock the rooks and oust the owl,
And pringle-prangle through the wires
Of telegraphs—and blow up fires
For smiths and farriers, sturdy fellows,
Who catch and send me through the bellows.”
.pm verse-end
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
“Play the flute! the flute!” cried the children.
But Daddy Coax raised his uplifted finger
and marked the measure more impressively:
.pm verse-start
“But I can sing and whisper low
To those I love and those I know,
Till they may close their dreamy eyes
And think of being good and wise.
So now let every one sit still
And listen——”
.pm verse-end
“No—no—no!” interrupted a roar of voices.
“Play the flute!—the flute!”
Daddy Coax laughed, gave his wig a pull,
and put the flute to his lips. He drew out a
note—long, piercing, and sweet. The children
paused to listen. Daddy Coax swayed softly
backward and forward; his eyes were half-closed,
his wig shoved over his left eyebrow;
he tapped with his toe, which went up and
down to the tune. It was a pretty, tender
melody that seemed to wind in and out. The
children were quite silent listening. Something
in Kitty’s heart that she had forgotten
stirred there—it was memory waking—that of
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
her mother’s voice speaking to her as in a dream.
She had forgotten where she was, when she
was suddenly roused by a great noise.
The children were surrounding Daddy Coax,
pulling his arms, clambering up his back, getting
around his legs to pull him down, as they
shouted, “Give us the flute!—give us the
flute!”
But he held the flute out of their reach,
shaking his head and saying:
“No, no, the little dears would break it. It
is like a pretty bird; if you break it, you kill it.
When it is dead, it will sing no more.”
But the children continued to pull, to clamber,
and to clamor.
“You naughty children, to hurt the kind old
man!” cried Kitty, jumping down from the
table and coming to the rescue of Daddy Coax.
Her efforts to protect him were of no avail.
The next moment the children tripped him up.
He fell down flat on the ground, and the flute
was snatched from his hand. There was a loud
laugh—shouts of hurrah. Then Kitty saw two
boys fighting over the flute, and snap—it broke
in their hands.
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
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The Fight for the Flute.—Page 108.
.ca-
.if-
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[Illustration: The Fight for the Flute.—Page 108.]
.sp 2
.if-
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
All at once the noise was interrupted, there
came a scamper round and round the room.
The two stern women stood there among the
children. How they entered—by the door, or
through the floor, or in by the windows, or
down by the chimney—Kitty could not tell.
There they were, pouncing upon the children,
who were vainly dodging to escape them.
Daddy Coax struggled to his feet, battered,
bruised, and in rags.
“Don’t take the little darlings to Punishment
Land,” he said with his whole heart in his
voice. “Poor little angels, they did not mean
it. They did not know how Daddy Coax loved
his flute.” He put up his hand and wiped away
a tear.
“Daddy Coax, if you did not spoil the children
you would spare them many a punishment,”
said one of the stern women, stopping
upon the threshold and turning round to speak.
She had a load of children tucked under each
arm. They might kick as much as they liked;
it did not trouble her. She held them tight as
a vise.
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
“It was their fun. Indeed I liked it,” said
Daddy Coax apologetically.
“Don’t put your foot into Punishment
Land,” continued the stern woman. “Once
you were allowed in, and you nearly ruined
the place. Take my word for it, Daddy Coax,
you are a goose, and the children know it. As
for you,” she went on, addressing Kitty, “you
had better run away, or you will be spoiled
too.”
“Well, she is severe,” thought Kitty; “but
she is right.”
She watched the old woman with the load
of children under each arm striding down a
long road that led away from Daddy Coax’s
door.
“That must be the way to Punishment
Land. Oh! I should like to see that land!”
cried Kitty.
Daddy Coax, bruised, tattered, looking as if
he had just come out of a dreadful railway
accident, was picking up, with trembling hands,
the fragments of his broken flute. Kitty ran
to him, helped him in his search; then led him
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
gently back to his chair, threw her arms round
his neck, and gave him a kiss.
“Good-by, dear Daddy Coax, I am going to
Punishment Land—just for a peep.”
She heard him give an exclamation of remonstrance;
but she would not stop to listen. She
ran out into the road.
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.bn 125.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII||ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREAM.
.sp 2
As Kitty darted out of the door she could
see the old woman going on with her burden of
kicking children tucked under each arm. It
was by no means easy to follow her tall, bony,
wiry figure, for she went at a great pace, as
though she had a very important duty to do,
and meant to do it. The children might kick
their shoes off, but on she went. She was
never very distinct, yet she never entirely
vanished. The road was long and straight;
over it hung a mist that seemed to be getting
deeper and thicker. Kitty ran along, her eyes
fixed upon the old woman’s back; but she
stalked on so fast there was no catching her
up. At once she vanished. The country
around was gray and dreary, not a tree, not a
house anywhere, nothing but a gray marshy-looking
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
plain. A little stream gurgled along,
not with a happy murmur as if it were telling
joyous secrets to itself; but glug—glug, as if
it were sobbing in the dimness. Kitty jumped
over the stream and cleared it at a leap. A
few frogs croaked. What with the “croak—croak”
of the frogs, and the sob—sob of the
water, it was quite enough to make any one
weep.
Kitty had been running so fast that she could
not stop herself, or perhaps she would not have
been in such a hurry to cross that doleful
stream.
No sooner she had bounded over to the other
side than a grim woman stood before her. She
appeared so suddenly that Kitty gave a start
and stopped running. Was it a real woman?
Was it the fog that had taken this shape?
Kitty could see distinctly a face peering out of
the mist, surrounded by gray hair and a high
mob-cap. Perhaps this was owing to her attention
being fixed upon the large pair of spectacles
astride the hooked nose.
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In all her life Kitty had never seen such
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
spectacles. They shone with extraordinary
effect through
the dimness, as
if they focused
all the light of
the place, and it
was impossible
to see the old
woman’s eyes behind
them. No,
never had Kitty
seen anything so
piercing, so
searching as
those spectacles!
When they fixed
their gaze upon
her she had an
uncomfortable
feeling that she
was transparent
like the glass
jars in the chemist’s shop, and that the eyes
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
behind the spectacles were seeing her through
and through, right to the other side of her.
“Who are you?” asked the mouth belonging
to the spectacles, in a business-like tone. “I
hate wasting time asking questions. My spectacles
usually spare me that trouble. But I
can’t make you out. Who brought you here?”
“Nobody brought me here—that is, nobody
except myself,” explained Kitty, who felt impelled
to be very accurate under the inspection
of those shining glassy eyes.
“Humph! Now that you have brought yourself
here, what punishment have you come for?”
“Indeed,” replied Kitty eagerly, “I do not
want any punishment—on no account.”
“Not want a punishment, and yet you come
to Punishment Land!” repeated the old woman,
with a smile curling up the corners of her lips.
It was not a pleasant smile. It made Kitty feel
a little creepy. “You might as well say,”
continued the mouth belonging to the spectacles,
“that you knock at a doctor’s door, and
don’t want medicine.”
“Perhaps I had better go back,” said Kitty
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
hurriedly, for she did not like the tone of the
conversation.
She looked round, but she perceived that the
fog had risen and formed thick walls all round
the place. She was in a prison of fog.
“But you see you can’t go back,” remarked
the old woman. “Here you are, and here you
must stay. May I ask,” she continued, fixing
the full glare of her glasses upon Kitty, “if you
did not come to be punished, what did you
come for? Come, you had better have a whipping;
it will do you good anyhow.”
“I came,” said Kitty, ignoring the last suggestion,
and feeling ashamed of the reason she
was going to give, “I came to see the naughtiest
child, and to see how it was punished.”
The old woman smiled sourly. It was
certainly a most unpleasant smile. It curled
up and up, until it seemed to curl up into
her ears. Kitty felt a cold shiver go down her
back.
“You’re all right for that,” answered the old
woman cheerily; “walk on; you’ll find the
naughtiest child here.”
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
She disappeared as she said this; but the
next moment she popped her head out of the
fog again. “Good-by, Miss Curiosity. I
hope you’ll enjoy what you’re going to see.
Curious little girls don’t always enjoy what
they find out.”
Her spectacles flashed as if they were laughing,
and once more she disappeared.
“Miss Curiosity indeed!” said Kitty, tossing
back her head.
She walked along with her cheeks on fire.
Perhaps the mist had cleared away, or her eyes
were growing accustomed to the grayness, for
she could see about her. She was in a wild,
flat field, utterly lonely and loveless, without a
blade of grass or a flower, nothing but thistles
and thorns. It stretched far away, solitary and
pathless.
“I wish I had not come,” muttered Kitty,
feeling frightened at the solitude. Then she
thought she would go back to the old woman
with the spectacles. She was not pleasant, but
she was company. No glimpse of the old
woman could she catch. She was alone in the
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
lonely plain. Alone! and yet Kitty fancied
some one was near her—some one quite near,
that she could not see or hear. But who was
there behind the fog?
“Why did I come? Oh! why did I come?”
she asked herself, trying to remember why she
had set out on this foolish quest. “I am curious!
oh! I am curious!”
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The tears filled her eyes and trickled down
her cheeks when she said this, with a sudden
feeling of humiliation in her little heart. As
she stood there crying and looking about her,
not knowing what to do, she saw some one
coming toward her. A lady all dressed in
white, whose pure robe trailed on the ground.
For a moment Kitty’s heart gave a great bound,
for she thought it was her mother. Then she
saw the lady was a stranger; that she had a
beautiful face, sad and majestic.
As Kitty wondered who she was, the stranger
drew near. “Who are you? Why have you
come to this sad place?” she said, looking at
Kitty with eyes so tender and penetrating that
Kitty felt as if their light were sinking into
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
her little heart, reading all its secrets. The
pale lady could
see as deep as
the old woman
with the flashing
spectacles.
“I came,” answered
Kitty,
hanging her
head, “because
I wanted to see
the naughtiest
child.”
“The naughtiest
child!
That was a
dreadful wish!”
said the fair
lady, and she
sighed.
It seemed to
Kitty that the
sigh was repeated
all around
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
and about her, as if a thousand sighs caught it
up and echoed it behind the mist.
“Come,” said the white lady, “you shall have
your wish.”
She led the way and Kitty followed; and it
seemed to Kitty, as her guide’s fair robes trailed
on the barren loveless ground that a track of
flowers bloomed for a moment as she passed,
and that fruit appeared among the thorns and
brambles.
Kitty wondered more and more who this
pale lady could be.
“What is your name?” she asked at last
looking up into her face.
“My name is Love,” the pale lady replied.
“Love!” repeated Kitty in the greatest
astonishment. “Love in Punishment Land,
where there are whippings and puttings to
bed!”
The pale lady smiled; her eyes were like the
stars that keep their patient watch at night
over the earth.
“They are not children whipped and put to
bed early, and kept at lessons, that I shall show
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
you. You have a little soul.” She laid her
gentle hand on Kitty’s shoulder. “Every child
has a little soul, and here you will see what
happens to that soul when it grows sinful.
Look yonder.” She pointed to the wall of
fog. “There the souls will look like bodies,
and you will see.”
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII||PICTURES IN THE FOG.
.sp 2
Love stretched her fair hand, and Kitty could
not tell if the fog grew transparent, allowing
her to see what it had hitherto hidden, or if a
picture painted itself thereupon.
Her eyes, fixed upon the dim mist, seemed
to open wider and wider.
She saw a dreadful thing. An immense cobweb,
and in it a child was caught. A big black
spider was weaving its threads around the captive.
Hand and foot the little one was bound.
Kitty saw the child’s figure distinctly; its
pretty hair shone through the web. How cunningly
the spider had entangled it; weaving
and knotting its gluey thread about the round
throat, the bright eyes, across the rosy lips, the
tiny ears, hands, and feet. The child did not
stir; it remained quiet in its gray, filmy prison.
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
But there were other children in the fog, some
entangled in webs almost as large and strong,
while others had but a silver thread or two
gleaming about their necks and brows. These
played merrily about, not seeing the black wary
spider watching above their head, and every
now and then shooting out, spinning and knotting
a thread about them.
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“What is that dreadful cobweb?” asked
Kitty in a whisper, drawing nearer to Love.
“Speak to the children; they will tell you,”
replied her guide.
But Kitty only crept closer to her, and drew
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
the fair robes around her, peeping fearfully out
from her hiding-place.
“I will explain,” said Love. “These are the
children who tell falsehoods. Every falsehood
a child tells its spirit gets more and more entangled
in a web. The spider shoots a thread
around it. One falsehood leads to another, so
the web grows and grows, and the little captive
spirit finds it harder to escape from its wretchedness
and misery.”
“Can they never break away?” asked Kitty,
drawing a breath of relief as the fog-picture
slowly faded and the mist closed over it like a
curtain.
Love’s face was sad and its meaning difficult
to guess. Before she could answer there came
a sound of little feet through the fog, a faint
tramp, tramp. Not a merry run or dance; but
as if restless, invisible little feet were going
round and round, backward and forward. Then
Kitty saw the image of something forming
itself on the fog. Round and round, zigzag, to
the right, to the left, rose a structure with
walls made of thorns.
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
“What is that?” she whispered.
“Do you know what a labyrinth is, or a
maze?” asked Love.
“It is a place very difficult to get out of,”
answered Kitty; and she grew quite giddy
looking at this rolling, crooked, curving, spinning-about,
straightening place.
Presently she saw that it was crowded
with children. It was the tramp of their little
feet she had heard, for they were running, running.
“Why, that is not punishment, that is play,”
said Kitty, astonished.
“Speak to them,” answered Love.
Some of the children were running with quite
a spirited air, as if they were enjoying the race;
their heads were uplifted, their chins poked
out; others plodded on wearily with a dogged
expression, while some looked angry and
miserable; and others again seemed dazed
and wandered foolishly up and down, going
backward and forward about the same spot.
Tramp, tramp, went those impetuous, tired,
foolish feet. Kitty advanced a step or two,
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
then some of the children trooped up toward
the spot nearest to her. “We want to get
out! We want to get out!” they said in
fretful voices that sounded a long way off yet
were quite distinct. “We want to get out!
We want to get back to Obedience Path,” they
repeated, looking anxiously at Kitty, as if they
thought she might show them the way out of
this labyrinth.
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Kitty looked eagerly about to see if she could
help them to find the right path; but every
pathway was so turning and twisting, so crooked
and intricate, that it made her giddy to try
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
and follow its curves and caprices. She shook
her head sadly, and the children then left
her, and tramp, tramp went those restless little
feet.
One child alone remained behind, going
backward and forward like a little bird flitting
about the door of its cage.
“I want to get out! I want to get out!” he
said plaintively.
“What is this place?” asked Kitty.
“It is Disobedience Maze,” said the child in
a thin, clear voice. “We are the disobedient
children, and because we would follow our own
way instead of the one that we were told to go
we have lost the Path of Obedience. I would
go to the right when I was told to go to the
left. I would go back when I was told to go
on. I would do what I was told not to do, and
one day I found I had got into this miserable
place, which is so full of dreadful troubles,
and thorns, and twistings. I am so tired! I
am so tired! I want to find my way to Obedience
Path.”
Even as he spoke the vision began to fade
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
and disappear, and the sound of the little feet
grew fainter and fainter. Only the childish
voices asking to “get back into Obedience
Path” seemed still to float out from the fog
curtain that had stolen over the scene.
Kitty felt very sorry for those poor children
tramping in Disobedience Maze, and restlessly
seeking the way out.
“Won’t they ever get out?” she asked with
tears in her eyes.
“Every child has a chance,” answered Love.
“But, hush!—wait—you will know by and
by.”
Kitty saw that another vision was forming
on the fog. She saw a cold, gray, flat plain
strewn with what looked like lumps of ice very
queerly shaped. Over the plain moaned a
shivering sound like that of the wind. “I—I—I!”
It turned to a shrill whistle. “Me—e—e—me—me!”
As the vision grew clearer Kitty perceived
that what looked like lumps of ice were really
frozen children. Some of them were just turning
into ice. They were motionless, as if frozen
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
to the ground; but the eyes of all were living,
peering, hungry eyes, turning here and there
with alert watchfulness. Their hands were also
alive; they were black and blue with cold, but
stretched out, opening and shutting, clutching
at everything they could lay hold of, such as
the bits of sticks or rags that strewed the
ground.
There was something terrible and grotesque
in the sight of those ice-children, motionless
but for their keen eyes watching, and hands
grabbing, clutching. Kitty now perceived
that their lips moved also, and that they and
not the wind uttered that shivering “I—I—I!
Me—me—me!”
“Who are they?” she whispered.
Once more Love motioned to her to speak to
them; but Kitty drew back. She was as much
afraid of talking to them as she had been to
the child in the cobweb. It was like talking
to dead children. As she shrank away the
shrill, airy voices began a song her nurse
used to sing as a reproach to her when she was
selfish:
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
.pm verse-start
“I said to myself as I walked by myself,
And myself said again to me:
‘Take heed of thyself, look after thyself,
For nobody cares for thee.’”
.pm verse-end
They sang it together, but all in a different
key and in a different measure, so that the
effect produced was a shrill discord, as if rasping
rattles, and wheezy whistles, and cracked
stringed instruments were playing in concert,
but each on its own account.
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“Well, I must say,” cried Kitty, forgetting
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
her fright, “if I sang those ugly words, at any
rate I would sing them in time and all together.”
“We never do anything together,” said the
child nearest to her, who happened not to be
quite turned into an icicle. “We always cry
when others laugh, and laugh when others cry.
We always take all we can and do all we can
to prevent others from getting anything. That
is the way to turn to ice. Every time you do
this your heart gets a little colder, a little
harder, a little lonelier. It’s quite easy to turn
to ice; you have only to think always of yourself.”
“But I don’t want to turn to ice on any account.
I don’t want to be cold and hard and
lonely. It is the very last thing I want. Nobody
would love me,” cried Kitty indignantly.
“But I love myself,” said the ice-child, with
a shiver. “I wish I could like what I grab,”
it went on, turning beady eyes on the rags and
sticks, gathered in a heap by its side; “but I
cannot; I only don’t want any one else to have
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
them. Oh, I wish I could thaw!” it said quite
suddenly and unexpectedly.
“We wish we could thaw! We wish we
could thaw!” sighed all the children together;
and the vision faded, slowly faded away.
“Won’t they ever grow warm again?” asked
Kitty, blinking away some tears.
Love looked almost as sad as when Kitty
had questioned her about the cobweb, and her
face was as difficult to read.
Now there came from behind the fog curtain
a sharp sound of smackings.
“Whippings!” said Kitty with a gleam of
fun in her eyes that dried up the lingering
tears.
But it was not whippings that the fog vision
showed. Again she saw a crowd of children,
and each child was boxing its own ears, pulling
its own hair, pinching, biting, scratching its
own hands or face; making grimaces the trace
of which remained. Kitty recognized some of
the children she had seen in Daddy Coax’s
schoolroom. There was the child who had
slapped his kind old face: she was slapping
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
her own with vigor. Slap, slap on each cheek
sounded the smack of the little furious hands.
There was the boy who had tried to kick
Daddy Coax’s shins, kicking away—kick, kick—at
his own.
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“That is a splendid punishment,” said Kitty,
nodding approvingly and smiling broadly.
It was an extraordinary sight to behold,
clinched small fists raised as if to hurt some one
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
else suddenly turning round and administering
a sound cuff, bang, bang on their owner’s ears;
to behold those spread-out tiny fingers pulling
away viciously at their owner’s hair. It was a
sight ludicrous and yet sad. Such swollen
noses, blackened eyes; such battered, bruised,
wounded children, inflicting great misery upon
themselves, making themselves so ugly by
grimaces that left their mark behind.
“Who are you?” cried Kitty, much excited.
“We are the passionate, willful, ungrateful
children,” said a boy whom Kitty recognized to
be the one who had broken Daddy Coax’s flute.
He looked dismally at her and then gave himself
two big thumps, one on his nose and one
on his ear. “Never you hurt others, especially
those who are kind to you. It’s yourself you
hurt all the while,” he went on. “It’s dreadful
pain when you come to feel it! dreadful!
and you can’t leave off, you must keep on hurting
yourself, not till you get the kiss of forgiveness.
I should like to see dear old Daddy
Coax again. I should like to give him a kiss
and to tell him I am sorry.”
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
“We are sorry,” cried all the children, and
their cry still sounded as the picture faded
away.
“Who gives the kiss of forgiveness? Will
they ever get the kiss?” asked Kitty anxiously,
for she had changed her mind about the punishment.
“There is one day in the year when every
child can get it,” said the pale lady.
Before Kitty could ask another question
she saw that another picture was appearing in
the fog. The ground was strewn with pretty
feathers of birds, with smashed speckled eggs,
with cozy nests all spoiled. Hosts of lovely
butterflies flapped about with crushed wings
that thoughtless little hands had broken.
Dream pussies, looking starved and in pain,
haunted the place, curving their backs as if
coming to be stroked and to rub themselves
against friendly legs. Faithful-eyed dogs
limped about. The mist seemed full of pipings
of sorrowing birds, of reproachful mews,
of pitiful whines, and all the children seemed
grieved. Kitty recognized some of those who
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
had dragged her along and would have robbed
the bird’s nest.
“I know those are the cruel children. I hope
they will be well punished,” said Kitty.
“They are punished. Look at their tears,”
said the pale lady. “They did not know the
pain they gave, because they did not think.
Now they know when they have killed one of
God’s dear innocent creatures they cannot mend
it again, as a toy can be mended. They cannot
mend the butterflies’ wings. They cannot
give back the poor little yellow-beaked young
to the grieving parent birds.”
Kitty saw that some of the children were
shutting their ears not to hear the pipings and
other cries of pain; others closing their eyes
not to see the dead birds, the wounded cats
and dogs. She presently perceived that a little
girl was speaking to her. She recognized the
child who could not speak distinctly, who had
killed the butterfly.
“I am always seeing it. It flaps about me,”
moaned the baby voice. “It keeps saying to
me here, ‘I was so merry that day. The sun
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
was shining and I was going to see how my
friends the daisies were getting on, and if the
buttercups were golden as yesterday. I was
playing, as you love to play, and just as I was
merriest, with the sunshine on my wings, you
came and struck me like a big hammer. I had
never done you any harm, and I was so merry.’
Oh, I wish I could make it live again! I wish
I could make it live again!” moaned the baby
voice.”
“The birds are worse, whose nests you have
robbed, and whose little ones you have killed,”
cried a boy. “They keep flying about you.
They won’t leave you alone. They scream
in your ear, ‘Good, good world! happy, beautiful
world, but for the cruel children in it.’”
“It is I who am the most miserable,” sobbed
another boy.
He was running as if trying to escape something
pursuing him, closing his eyes and shutting
his ears, while an ugly dog, with big flabby
paws and a nose like a black quivering mushroom,
one ear with a slit in it, and a tail something
like a curled-up sausage, followed him,
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
always jumping, always trying to lick his
face.
“Was that your dog?” asked Kitty.
The boy stopped. “Yes, his name was ‘Trot.’
He loved me, he trusted me, he followed me
wherever I went; but I grew ashamed of him,
for every one called him a cur. The other boys
laughed at me and nicknamed me ‘Master
Mongrel,’ so I made up my mind to get rid of
him. Twice I managed to lose him, but he
found his way home, and when he saw me he
licked my hand and nearly wagged off his tail
with gladness. One winter day I took him off
for a long walk; he trotted trustfully by my
side as if it were a holiday. I took him to a
wood a long way off, and I tied him to a tree
with a cord and left him there. I did not mind
his whines and his howls; I left him there. That
night it came on to snow; I tried to be glad; I
was pleased to have got rid of him. Next day
it still snowed. I thought I would go and fetch
him home. I went to the place where I had
left him. I could not find him, it was like a
graveyard of snow. I dug and dug in the snow
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
with my hands, I dug till I found him. He lay
quite stiff. I whistled and called ‘Trot.’ He
just opened one eye, gave his tail a little wag,
put out his old tongue and tried to lick my
hand, and died. Oh, I wish he was alive again!
I wish he was alive again!”
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[Illustration]
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.if-
The mist closed over the picture as the boy
repeated his unavailing wish.
“When will they have the kiss of forgiveness?”
asked Kitty with a little sob, for now
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
she knew that the punishment of those children
was hard. They were to feel the innocence
and trustfulness of the creatures they hurt, and
to realize all the happiness they had destroyed.
“There is one day in the year—Christmas
Day!” said Love.
“Christmas Day!” repeated Kitty.
She tried to remember when Christmas Day
would be: was it to-morrow, or next year, or
next week? Was it in spring, summer, autumn,
or winter? What season was it now?
She had forgotten everything. Everything
had slipped from her mind but the thought of
the children in Punishment Land.
Was it because she thought of Christmas
Day that a delicious smell of hot jam and
cakes stole through the fog, as the picture
began to form?
“That cannot be part of Punishment Land!”
exclaimed Kitty, watching the vision growing
there.
She saw a place where tarts grew on bushes
and candies strewed the ground, where the
flowers sparkled with sugar, where there was a
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
river of syrup on which a boat of chocolate lay
at anchor, and sugar swans curved their long
necks. A bird flew out of the fog; it fell down
ready roasted on the ground. A little rabbit
scampered along, then suddenly it stood rigid,
turned to candy. A cowslip ball was tossed
out of the mist; as it
fell, it became a plum-pudding
stuck all over
with almonds.
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A number of children
were in that pleasant
place, but they did not
seem to be enjoying it.
Their faces were the
color of boiled cauliflowers,
and they rubbed
their little stomachs with a very dismal expression,
sighing: “Oh, that nasty sweetmeat!
Oh, that dreadful pie! Oh, that tart! that jam!
Oh, to be hungry again and relish a mug of
milk!”
A faint and querulous voice addressed Kitty.
“Take my advice and never eat a tart. I
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
shall never eat one again when I leave this
place, never.”
She saw that the speaker was the little lad
she had met in the lane and whose conversation
always turned upon plum-cakes and sweets.
He shook his head warningly and woefully as
he spoke.
“I should have thought this is just the place
you would have liked,” she said.
“It is a dreadful place. You have always a
lump here;” and he rubbed himself round and
round. “I begin to hate sugar. I can’t touch
anything but it turns to sugar. I can’t play
because I feel so ill, and I can’t think because
my head feels like a pudding, and when I go
to sleep I have dreadful dreams. Listen, there
are the dreams coming! Oh! oh! oh! and I
am going to sleep, to sleep.”
Kitty heard a rustling. She thought the
dreams would come through the fog. Not a bit
of it. Out of tarts that hung on the bushes,
out of the pebbles, the sugar flowers, the syrup
river, the chocolate boat, they came, growling,
squealing, squeaking, jumping, trotting, whirling,
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
hopping. Old men with very hooked noses,
and legs like asparagus, waving about dreadful
bottles of medicines. Old women with gray
wisps of hair and green-eyed black cats on their
shoulders. Red imps making somersaults and
waving their arms like windmills, children with
whiskers, frogs as big as shoulders of mutton,
with eyes on fire, pigs with bristles like porcupines.
All these phantoms filled the picture
on the fog. They jumped upon the children’s
chests, and presently there was a sound of long,
dreary snores. The fat pig with the bristles
jumped upon the boy who had been speaking
to Kitty. “Grunt, grunt,” went the pig.
“Snore, snore,” went the boy, and to these
sounds the vision slowly faded away.
“Well, I don’t wonder he does not care for
tarts any more,” said Kitty, who felt rather inclined
to laugh, although she flicked away a
tear. Even Greedyland picture was sad.
And now she perceived that another picture
was beginning to appear. It was that of a
lovely landscape. There were trees, and running
water, and blooming flowers. Children
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
filled this pleasant spot. But they did not
seem at all happy. Some glanced about them in
a frightened fashion. The greater number presented
a most dejected, even a disconsolate appearance,
while a few sat apart, keeping their
eyes tightly screwed up; their faces were all
puckered to keep those eyes tightly closed.
As she looked at the children she recognized
some of those she had seen looking into the
pool and singing to their own reflections.
“Why, what is it they do not want to see?”
asked Kitty, glancing about to discover if
anything terrible lurked among the trees and
flowers.
She looked up to Love, but once again Love
motioned to her to speak to the children.
Kitty advanced nearer. “Why do you keep
your eyes shut?” she asked a little girl who was
sitting with her eyes tightly closed.
“Don’t speak to me. I won’t look at you,”
answered the child with a resolute shake of her
head, but without a quiver of her eyelids.
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Another child came running up. She waved
her hands and pointed up and down and all
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.bn 159.png
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.bn 160.png
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around, saying, in that thin piping voice Kitty
was getting accustomed to hear:
“Don’t you see! don’t you see!”
Kitty looked, rubbed her eyes, and looked
again. Yes—no, there was no mistake. Faces
everywhere. Faces! faces! faces!—a world
of faces! All those children’s faces smiling,
blinking, nodding; up in the sky, down on the
ground. On every flower, on every blade of
grass, on every leaf of the trees were faces.
Kitty began to laugh, the effect was so comical;
for as the leaves of the trees tossed, the
flowers nodded, the water flowed, there were
the most extraordinary effects. The faces now
melted into each other, now were topsy-turvy;
noses came where eyes should be; the hair
seemed to grow on chins; the mouths climbed
up to the forehead; sometimes it was like
a world of faces seen reflected in a vast teapot,
nothing was seen but noses and slits of
eyes.
“Don’t laugh,” said the child plaintively.
“I can’t see your face. It’s myself I see when
I look at you.”
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
“Really,” exclaimed Kitty, “that is most extraordinary!”
“I never see anything but my face, never.
We all see our own faces everywhere, wherever
we look.”
She glanced, as she spoke, toward a sunflower,
and, sure enough, Kitty saw the child’s
little face peeping out of the big brown heart;
upside down on a dock leaf; grinning from a
thistle—there it was again.
“I wish I could see something else than my
face,” sobbed the child. “I wish I could see
something else.”
Then there rose a chorus of airy, unhappy
voices repeating the same words: “Something
else than my face; something else than my
face.”
And the vision faded away, while in the air
a crooning sound was heard, and the words of
a lament:
.pm verse-start
“Oh, no! we would no longer see
The faces once we thought so fair;
For beautiful as they might be
To gaze upon them here and there,
.bn 162.png
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And stare and glare
With eyes so hazy,
Will drive us crazy.
Because it is ourselves that we
Are sick of seeing everywhere.”
.pm verse-end
Kitty turned to Love.
“Won’t it be soon Christmas Day?” she
asked, for her little heart was full of pity, and
she longed for all those children to receive the
kiss of forgiveness.
Love smiled, and her smile seemed to hold
out a promise that it was near; but she did
not speak the words, and when Kitty looked
again toward the mist wall there was another
picture forming itself there. If ever there was
represented a vision of an untidy, jumbled-about
place, there it certainly was plainly seen
on the mist. Such a litter of rags, crumbs,
broken toys, writing implements, and books!
What was most remarkable were the lessons
that were coming out of the books, and taking
walks on their own account about the place,
and mingling among themselves in the queerest
manner. A bit of the map of China had settled
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
itself down in Yorkshire, and there was
Denmark planting itself in the Desert of Sahara;
Ireland was on the top of Mount Vesuvius,
which was beginning to rumble frightfully
and emit huge puffs of smoke. As for
history, Kitty found it quite impossible to
follow its freaks; but she saw distinctly Julius
Cæsar was signing Magna Charta, and the
Crusaders were fighting the battle of Waterloo.
Grammar and sums were trying experiments of
such a complicated character there was no
finding out what they were driving at. In the
midst of this place sat a number of children;
they had a muddled-up air, as if the walking-about
lessons were too much for them. Their
mouths dropped open, their eyes half-closed;
they were all in tatters. They looked ashamed.
If they pulled their sleeves down to hide their
dirty hands, crack came a great rent at the
elbows; if they pulled down their stockings
into their boots to hide the holes at their heels,
out peeped their knees.
“You are the untidy children,” said Kitty,
nodding. “Well, you are in a muddle.”
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
“It was all our laziness,” said the child nearest
to where she stood. He sighed so pitifully
that Kitty wished to cheer him up a bit.
“Why cannot you set to and put things
straight?” she asked briskly.
“Can’t,” said the boy.
“Can’t,” sighed all the children.
“Look,” said the boy. He stretched out his
leg; all the children stretched out their legs.
Kitty saw they had turned to stumps.
“That is because we would not run,” he muttered
mournfully. “Look,” he said again. He
put out his hands; all the children put out
their hands. All the fingers were joined; they
were like hands in boxing-gloves.
“That is because we would not use them,”
explained the boy in the same dismal voice.
“As for our ideas, they are gone to sleep, and
are walking about in their sleep and won’t wake
up,” said the boy.
“And won’t wake up,” floated the sad, slow
voices out of the fog, closing over the scene.
“I wish Christmas Day would come,” cried
Kitty. “Don’t you think they have been punished
enough?”
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
She looked toward Love, and Love’s face was
illumined with a smile like a sunbeam.
“I am so sorry for the naughty children,”
said Kitty with a sob. “I wish the time had
come for them to receive the kiss of forgiveness.”
Love laid her hand on Kitty’s head, then
gently touched her ears.
Lo! faintly Kitty heard the sound of joy-bells
tinkling. Sweet bells! happy bells!
ringing clearer and clearer, nearer and nearer,
till all the air seemed full of their pealing and
clanging.
“Christmas bells!” exclaimed Kitty breathlessly.
Love lifted her finger. “Hush!” she said.
.bn 166.png
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.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX||LOVE SPEAKS.
.sp 2
Hush! Kitty heard a sound. It was at
first like that of the wind rising; it grew more
distinct, and it was that of a hustling and a
bustling. Little feet running, little feet shuffling;
their airy tread sounded in every direction;
it came from the right, it came from the
left, it came from all around.
Nearer and nearer, quicker and quicker they
seemed to come, those eager, running, scampering,
flying feet. And presently Kitty saw the
children. Hosts of children; any number of
children, leaping, rushing headlong toward
where Love was standing.
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Out of the fog they came; out of falsehood’s
net, torn cobwebs hanging about their necks,
their hair, clinging to their clothes; tired children,
bleeding and footsore, from Disobedience
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
Maze; selfish children, white and hoary with
icicles; cruel children, with tear-stained faces
anxiously turned toward Love; passionate
children, bruised and disfigured; greedy children,
heavy-eyed and sallow; the vain children,
with open-eyed gaze fixed upon the white lady;
lazy children, in their unmended rags; it was
quite astonishing to see how fast their stumpy
legs could carry them. From all parts they
came, nearer and nearer, quicker and quicker.
Still they came, calling, crying, sobbing, entreating,
“Give us the kiss of forgiveness.” They
pressed toward Love, closer and closer; little
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
arms outstretched, little faces upturned, little
mouths pursed up for a kiss, and on all sides
that sobbing cry, “Give us the kiss of forgiveness.”
And Love stretched out her arms and
gathered the children into them, and kissed
them one by one. As she kissed them the
cobwebs fell from those who had escaped from
falsehood’s net; the wounded feet of the disobedient
were healed; the icicles melted and
dropped away from the selfish children, who
seemed dissolved into a rain of tears; the passionate
children lost their disfigurement; the
greedy children grew rosy; the vain children
cried out with glee as, looking around, their
own faces no longer popped out to greet them;
the rags of the slovenly, idle children were
mended; their legs and hands grew supple.
It was a wonderful sight to see the children
after they received Love’s kiss. Their eyes
shone; they danced for joy; their hair seemed
to stand out in a crest of light about their
heads. Kitty fancied some bright presence
must be hovering above them.
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
Then Love folded Kitty in her arms and
kissed her on the forehead.
That kiss was the strangest, sweetest kiss
Kitty ever received.
It was sweeter than any comfit; it was pleasanter
than any music to which her feet had
danced; it brought a feeling of peace like that
that came to her when her mother kissed her
in the dark night; but this kiss also brought
to her a sense of pain.
Something like fire touched Kitty’s heart,
and stirred a memory that had lain asleep all
this time. She had forgotten something. What
was it? Vaguely she remembered the blue
rose, the bullfinch, then suddenly her mother
and Johnnie.
She had forgotten Johnnie. Johnnie, who
was ill unto death, whose illness had come
through her fault. She remembered it all
now: how she had crept downstairs, and
then she thought of the doctor’s words:
“Christmas Eve would decide if he were to live
or die.”
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Why had she gone away from him? Would
.bn 170.png
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she ever get back in time for Christmas Day?
Would Johnnie be alive or dead when she
reached home? As she stood there, asking
herself these questions with a yearning homesick
feeling overflowing her heart, Kitty felt
something brushing tears from her cheek. She
looked up. A tiny child, with little pink
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
wings, was hovering about her. He was clothed
in a tunic made of a bit of rainbow, and his face
was the face of Johnnie. He had rosier cheeks,
and he did not carry a crutch, for his little legs
were straight.
“Who are you?” asked Kitty.
The rosy-winged child laughed, and the laugh
was Johnnie’s laugh. Kitty heard Love’s voice
speaking.
“I have given you each a guardian child. It
was born of my kiss. But another companion
also goes with you.”
Over every child Kitty now saw that there
hovered a tiny figure on rosy wings, clothed in
rainbow drapery. She saw with surprise also
that every child had another attendant crouching
on its left shoulder, a small elfish figure,
which every now and then appeared to her to
be half-animal, half-child, and in a strange
fashion to take the form of an animal that bore
some likeness to the child itself.
“You do not know,” Love went on, “and it
is no wonder you should not, for you are all so
young, that you have each a higher and a lower
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
nature. To-night is Christmas Eve: good and
evil sprites are abroad, fairies and elves.
Strange sights are seen. To-night the lower
nature—the naughty self—of each of you here
has taken the shape of a little goblin, and goes
about with you in visible form.”
Kitty looked fearfully round to her own left
shoulder, and there, sure enough, was a little
kitten-like creature with pointed ears and
roguish eyes. It sat up with a defiant air as it
peeped round at her with a sidelong glance. It
appeared quite playful, but as Kitty looked at it
the brown creature lost its kittenish air, and it
was a face like her own, but quite small, that
she saw looking back at her with her naughtiest
expression.
Kitty started; then she heard Love’s voice
still speaking:
“You are going on a journey. You are all
going home!”
“Home! home!” cried Kitty, and all the
children skipped with joy.
“Your guardian child goes with you; but
remember that other attendant,” Love said, and
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
her voice was anxious. “Take care! It will
always be on the side of temptation and against
your guardian child. If you mind this sprite,
which is your naughty self, it will grow
stronger and stronger, and will drive away
your guardian child.”
“We will not mind it,” cried all the children
in a chorus.
“Your homeward journey will be difficult,”
resumed Love. “It lies through a wood.”
“A wood!” echoed Kitty and all the children
in tones of dismay. “How shall we find
our way?”
“A star will guide you,” said Love.
She raised her fair hand, and Kitty and the
children looked whither she pointed. A star
shone through the mist. It was as bright as a
diamond.
“Keep your eyes upon the star,” said Love.
“Never lose sight of it, and you will reach
home by Christmas morning. It will guide you
aright through the perils of the wood. It is a
difficult wood to go through; and it is easy
when you are in it to fall back into Punishment
Land.”
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
“Punishment Land!” moaned the children.
“You will all start together, yet when you
reach the wood you will find yourselves alone.
Each must go through that wood alone.”
“Oh!” sighed the children again, all huddling
a little closer to each other.
“There is no danger,” said Love, “if you
keep your eyes on the star. Your guardian
child will help you through the difficulties of
your journey. Listen to what he says to you.
He is my little ambassador. Do not listen to
your naughty self. Do not dally on the way.
Do not put off. If you quit the path, at first
it may be easy to find it again, but it will grow
more and more difficult, till it may be become
impossible.” Then Love grew very solemn,
and she lifted her hand in warning. “Do not
play with the sprite. If you play with it you
will hurt your guardian child, who may then
leave you. Do not,” she repeated urgently,
“play with the self-sprite.”
“We will not, we will not,” cried the children
eagerly.
“No, indeed,” said Kitty, giving a little shove
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
to her left shoulder. “I shall listen only to
my guardian child. Dear guardian child, with
the face like Johnnie.”
“If you disobey your guardian child it will
grow faint, and remember you may kill it.
Come,” she went on, “I shall go with you as
far as the boundary of Punishment Land.”
Love walked on toward the wall of mist, where
shone the star. The children followed.
It was a strange sight to see those children
following her, with eyes fixed on the star, and
on the right shoulder of each little pilgrim the
tiny rosy-winged, rainbow-dressed figure; and
on the left the queer little half-animal creature.
And as they approached the prison wall of that
dreary land the star began to quiver and move.
It looked like a bird of fire with quivering
wings setting forth on its trackless sky-way.
“We come! we come!” cried the children.
Run, run—what a hurly-burly of little feet
rushing out of Punishment Land, setting forth
on their journey home.
They turned and waved their little hands to
Love. “Farewell! farewell!” she cried, waving
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
her fair hand in answer. “Watch the star;
obey your guardian child. Do not play with
your naughty sprite, and you will reach home
safe by Christmas morning, and win a Christmas
blessing.” She smiled wistfully as she
spoke.
The fog closed over Love’s figure, and Kitty
suddenly found herself standing at the entrance
of a great wood. She was alone. The children
had all disappeared. And still through the fog
floated Love’s voice—“Watch the star. Obey
your guardian child. Do not play with your
naughty sprite.”
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.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X||IN THE WOOD.
.sp 2
“I must hurry,” said Kitty, setting off at a
run. There was a sense of haste in her little
heart. Never before had she felt such a sense
of hurry.
The star glided over the tree-tops; it seemed
to be sailing along the sky. Steadily, steadily,
but swiftly it held its even course high above
the world, and all its troubles, and naughtiness,
and folly, and as Kitty looked at it her feet
seemed to move more quickly. Every now and
then her guardian child stroked her cheek with
his little pink wing, and whispered, “Hurry,
Kitty, hurry, that Johnnie may get well on
Christmas Day.”
Kitty did not peep round to her left shoulder;
she had made up her mind not to give so much
as a glance toward the creature crouching there.
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
It was very quiet now. Kitty would scarcely
have known it was there.
The star ran along in the sky. Kitty ran
along on the path; her dress fluttered; her hair
streamed behind her. Haste! haste! She
must be home by Christmas morning. She
must win that Christmas blessing, Johnnie’s
health.
The road after awhile began to grow very
steep. On—on, Kitty climbed bravely, her
eyes fixed on the star, and her guardian child
whispered, “Well done, Kitsy! well done,
Kitsy!”
She fancied that as the road grew steeper the
naughty sprite seemed to be uneasy and on the
watch.
All at once the road led through the loneliest,
shadiest spot she had ever seen. Green and
softly the light came through a curtain of trees
that locked their branches into each other.
There were mossy dells through which the ivy
crept and flowers spread. Red poppies flashed;
purple hemlocks rose in clusters; faint-colored
blossoms made a track in the grass as if the
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
Milky Way had fallen from the sky and
stretched there. A stream gurgled drowsily
along, and dreamy white lilies rocked softly
upon their leafy pillows. There was a drone
and bu-zz-zz of insects through the air, and the
swish of a distant waterfall that might be seen
through the trees like a white curtain swaying
softly.
It was just a spot to lie down in and doze,
stretched upon the moss, with eyes shut, letting
the soft light rest upon the closed eyelids.
Rest! rest! rest! was murmured in the air
by the water, by the trees.
Presently Kitty heard a most extraordinary
sound that rose slowly, then fell gradually. It
filled the wood—it was all around her. She
paused to listen. Was it the blowing of a
gigantic pair of hidden bellows? No, it could
not be. She went on cautiously, holding her
head a little on one side. It must be the wind
soughing through the branches of the trees;
but as not a leaf was stirring, or a twig moving,
Kitty came to the conclusion it was not the
wind. What could it be? Kitty listened with
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
all her ears, and she began to distinguish that
there was quite a chorus of sounds. There
were impressive rumbles and quick, short pants
and deep mutterings as of wild beasts going on
together. Just as she made this discovery she
gave a jump, for all the noises ended in a snort,
as of some fierce and furious animal. In a
moment, all around, Kitty perceived the glare
of eyes gazing at her. She saw nothing but
eyes—no noses or mouths—nothing but eyes.
Terribly wide awake, these eyes gazed at her
with an aggressive stare. Kitty felt frightened
and apologetic. She was about to drop a
curtsey, when, just as suddenly as they had
appeared, the eyes closed and vanished. The
effect was sudden as though a thousand candles
had gone out together. Again the panting,
puffing sound began around her. “Well, it is
a curious place,” she said; “I wonder what it
is called.”
“Snore Corner—Sn—ore Corner,” said a voice
quite close to her. It seemed like some one
talking in sleep, so monotonous was it. Kitty
came to a standstill. She peered about her.
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
Then she sprang back, for she nearly struck
against something that at
first she fancied was an
immense bat. It was
hanging with its head
downward from the
branch of a neighboring
tree. Looking closer Kitty
saw it was not a bat, but
a dwarf with round, green,
blinking eyes, and dressed
in a mouse-colored suit.
She was not sure whether
it was a human creature;
but as it was hanging
upside down her perplexity
was not to be wondered
at. It blinked its green
eyes and gazed so steadily
and vacantly at her that
Kitty was not quite sure
that it saw her. “Why
do you hang down like
that?” she timidly asked.
.bn 182.png
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“One of us must keep awake,” answered the
creature in a sleepy voice. “It’s ever so much
easier to keep one’s eyes open with one’s head
down. Try it.”
“Oh, but I feel no difficulty in keeping my
eyes open,” said Kitty briskly, “unless I am
very sleepy. But doesn’t it make your head
ache?” she added thoughtfully.
“I am in a haze. You feel no ache in a
haze!” said the creature, blinking solemnly.
“All in a jumble and a haze—nothing like it—try
it.”
“Indeed, that is about the very last thing I’d
care to be in; in a jumble and a haze,” said
Kitty indignantly.
“They would expect nothing of you if you
were,” said the hanging-down creature; “for
if they asked you a question in history,
very likely grammar would come up, and for
arithmetic perhaps you’d give them geography.
Then they would give up asking you lessons.
They would say that the lessons got all in a
jumble.”
“I am sure they would give me more lessons,”
replied Kitty.
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
“Then you would grow more jumbled, more
hazy—try it,” said the creature sleepily.
Kitty gave a jerk of her head and began to
walk slowly on. “It’s no use talking to such a
hazy creature,” she remarked in a mortified
tone. “I wonder who he is?”
“Goblin Sloth,” whispered the guardian
child. “Take care, take care!”
Kitty felt a drowsiness creep over her. She
glanced toward the guardian child; he was
standing very erect, looking about, as if on the
watch for something to be expected.
“Keep looking at the star! Don’t look
round!” he murmured anxiously.
The star was swiftly gliding along above the
tree-tops, keeping on straight ahead, over a narrow
rising path that went through this charming
nook hollowing down on either side. The
naughty sprite was rocking itself and singing
a lullaby in a very go-to-sleep, purring voice,
“Hush a bye, baby, mother is by.”
Kitty ran along, struggling against the sleepy
feeling that was stealing over her.
“Why in such a hurry?” said a voice.
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
It was a pleasant voice. A voice with a sort
of oily gurgle in it.
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Kitty saw a short, round man lying in the
moss, just by the side of the pathway, his feet
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
stretched across it. She must jump over them,
or she must ask him to remove them.
The man had a mild, melancholy, fat face,
and half-closed peaceful eyes.
“Do not stop!” said the guardian child.
“I am afraid you are one of the fussy sort,”
said the mild man in an easy-going sing-song
voice.
“Would you kindly remove your feet? for I
am in a very great hurry,” answered Kitty
with decision and politeness.
“Hurry!” sighed the mild man, not stirring
an inch. “What a mistake!—a dreadful mistake—everybody
is in a hurry nowadays—always
in a hurry!” His quiet eyes rested
more and more dreamily upon Kitty. They
seemed to forget what they were looking at,
and to slumber gently.
“I am not always in a hurry,” Kitty explained.
“But to-day I am in a very great hurry.”
“What a mistake!” snoringly sighed the
melancholy fat man. “Nothing can be enjoyed
in a hurry. Take the highest delight—a
yawn!”
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
“A yawn!” repeated Kitty, and she burst out
laughing. The sense of haste seemed falling
away from her.
“A yawn!” insisted the mild man, who had
not removed his slumbrous eyes from Kitty’s
face. “Only a very few know the pleasure of
a yawn. There is yawning and yawning.”
“Ye—es!” yawned the naughty sprite—“dee—li—cious!”
“Do not put off any longer!” whispered the
guardian child, pulling Kitty’s hair to wake
her up. But Kitty felt as if lead were at her
heels.
“Just one moment and I’ll make up for the
delay,” she murmured.
The flabby mild man continued speaking in
a monotonous sorrowful voice. “Very few
know how to yawn. Some yawn only when
they cannot help it. They slur it and blur it,
and go to sleep over it. Some are ashamed of
yawning and conceal their faces; some”—and
now a flicker of reproachful animation brightened
the dreamy eyes of the speaker—“yes,
some swallow their yawns.”
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
“I am doing that now,” said Kitty, who had
never felt so drowsy in all her life. She heard,
as at a distance, her guardian child’s voice
sighing, “The star is disappearing!—the star
is disappearing!”
“Come, give us a lesson in real yawning,”
said the naughty sprite caressingly.
“Real yawning requires time and deliberation,”
said the flabby
man in an up-and-down
voice. “You must begin
at the beginning;
you must go on to the
end. First you will feel
a little shiver, like a
caress of velvet hands
on your forehead; your
mouth will open, then all your being will seem
to grew larger, and wider, and longer. Every
sense of hurry and flurry will pass away; still
your mouth will open wider and wider, till it
comes to a delicious gape.”
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[Illustration]
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“Ya—aw—aw—awn!” the naughty sprite
was yawning. His ears dropped behind his
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
wide-swelling neck; his body was stretched:
his month was—open—open, showing all his
pointed white teeth down to his red throat.
“Ya—aw—aw—awn!” the mild, flabby,
dreamy man was yawning, slowly, sonorously,
solemnly.
Kitty stretched out her arms and yawned.
“Ya—aw—awn,” echoed all around. Yawns
were everywhere—in the stream, in the trees,
in the flowers—everything was yawning except
the guardian child, who pulled at Kitty’s hair
and whispered more and more eagerly in her
ear:
“Do not put off any longer. No Christmas
blessing if you put off.”
“Put off! put off! put off!” drowsily whispered
the air around Kitty.
“I am coming!” said Kitty; but she did not
stir. She blinked away the yawn-tears that
smarted her eyes. “Oh, dear!” she yawningly
sighed, “I should never get to my journey’s
end if I remained here long.”
“Dream that you have reached the journey’s
end,” said the mild man. “Day-dreams are the
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
only reality. Day-dream lessons are lovely.
School-room lessons are always wrong, but day-dream
lessons are always right. No mistakes
anywhere, no blots anywhere—fine flourishes
to all the letters—all the pride of school-room
lessons well done—and no trouble.”
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” drowsily murmured
the sprite, curling itself up in a little
sleepy heap.
“Lovely day-dream lessons!” murmured
everything around.
“Lo—v—vely—day-dr—” began Kitty, her
head nodding.
“No Christmas—no blessing—no Johnnie!”
moaned the guardian child.
Kitty felt it rise from her shoulder—a sudden
fear woke her up. She looked round; he
was fluttering away, his eyes fixed on the star
that was disappearing behind the brow of the
hill. The guardian child had lost all his rosiness;
the little pink wings were pale; the rainbow
tunic faded; he looked as Johnnie looked
when Kitty thought he was dying.
“Day-dream lessons are falsehoods,” shouted
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
Kitty. In a moment she was wide awake; she
had bounded over the stumpy legs that stretched
across the path.
As she did so a faint peal of Christmas
sounded in her ear. The guardian child fluttered
back to her shoulder; it perched there
light as a bird, and at every step Kitty took it
grew rosier and brighter again. The naughty
sprite growled.
The path was very steep, but Kitty ran
panting along. “I nearly put off too long,” she
said ruefully when once more she stood under
the star, and she relaxed her speed to take
breath. “That fat man’s talk sounded so
pleasant.”
“That is the worst of temptations; they have
always so much to say for themselves,” said the
guardian child. He spoke in a troubled voice,
and Kitty noticed that he was standing up very
erect and looking ahead anxiously.
The sprite had apparently got over his ill-temper,
and he was now pleasantly sniffing
the air.
“I wonder if there is some danger coming!”
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
said Kitty. “I am warned, anyhow. I won’t
be tempted again.”
Presently she perceived a little brook babbling
across her path; but she was running at
such speed she could not stop herself, and at
one bound she sprang across the stream.
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[Illustration]
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.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI||KITTY DANCES WITH STRANGE PARTNERS.
.sp 2
“I am beautiful! Oh, so, so beautiful!”
said a hoarse voice.
Kitty, looking round, saw—well, she could
not say what sort of a creature she saw—as
she had never seen one like it before. It bore
a sort of resemblance to a frog, but that was
perhaps because it wore a green coat and a
bulging shirt-front; then it was a very large
frog, as big as herself. It had a human face—a
broad, bland, beaming face—with a smile
that seemed to curl all round it. In her life
Kitty had never seen such a steady, satisfied
smile.
The green-coated creature wriggled and
twisted itself till Kitty thought it would
wriggle and twist itself out of existence. On
beholding Kitty it made her a low bow, and
said with a flourish of its hand:
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
“Admire me and I shall admire you.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to be admired,” said
Kitty, trying to smother a laugh. “Indeed,
indeed, I don’t want to be admired.”
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[Illustration]
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“Not—want—to—be—ad—mired!” exclaimed
the frog-like one, throwing itself back,
sticking out its left leg, and uplifting its two
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
arms in an elegant attitude of dismay. Yet
for all its dismay it continued to smile.
“I think it would be dull,” said Kitty,
speaking slowly to keep her voice steady. “It
would feel like having one’s best frock always
on, and being afraid of jumping about.”
“But that is the very way; the very only
way you ought to strive to feel,” cried the frog,
wringing its hands in an agony of earnestness;
“always as if you had your best frock on.”
“It would be very dull,” said Kitty in a tone
of conviction; “very dull! just as if one were
always sitting or standing for one’s photograph.”
“But that is just the way one ought always
to sit or stand, as if one were having one’s
photograph taken. The very, very, very only
way.” The force of its conviction affected the
frog so profoundly that tears filled its goggle
eyes; still it continued to smile.
Kitty was wondering how it could weep and
smile, when it put its feet in the third position
of dancing and made her a low bow.
“You have summed it all up in two sentences:
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
to feel always as if you were wearing
your best frock and having your photograph
taken. That is what we ought all to strive to
feel. You understand me. Tit for tat, I understand
you. Let us dance.”
Kitty felt her finger tips taken by those of
the frog. She did not like to withdraw them,
and the next moment she found herself dancing
a stately minuet. Step, twirl, bow, and courtesy.
The brook played the accompaniment, the
branches above swayed to the measure of the
dance; Kitty and her partner danced on. The
naughty sprite twisted and frolicked with
them. Step, twirl, bow, and courtesy. In all
her life Kitty had never made so many courtesies.
The frog’s contortions grew more and more
extraordinary, and still the brook babbled, and
still the branches swayed in tuneful accompaniment
to the stately dance.
Was it her guardian child who whispered in
Kitty’s ear, “Christmas Day! Christmas Day!”
“Dance! dance!” said the sprite, skipping
with glee. But Kitty stopped in the middle
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
of a courtesy, the sense of hurry overtook her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said; “I must stop
dancing now.”
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[Illustration]
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Her frog-like partner took no notice. Step,
wriggle, bow, he went on as if he did not hear,
and Kitty walked away. When she turned to
look the creature was still twisting, stepping,
bowing.
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
“Conceited thing!” she muttered. “He is
so filled up with himself he does not miss me.
He does not know even that I am gone. I
wonder what he is?”
“Goblin Vanity,” whispered her guardian
child. “Take care!”
Kitty now gave a cry of surprise as she saw
the prettiest garden. It stood to the left in
a hollow, away from the path over which
brooded the star. It was such a quaint, sweet
garden, full of flower-beds and laid out in smooth
lawns, and bowers, and lovely hide-and-go-seek
places.
A glass palace glittered at a little distance.
A fountain tossed its bright waters like a silver
plume; swans swam in and out of the spray,
peacocks strutted on the greensward. Kitty
thought she had never in all her life seen a
garden so inviting. The sound of delightful
musical boxes tinkled from afar. All at once a
crowd of children came dancing out of the glass
palace. They looked like fairies, their dresses
were so glittering, their movements so graceful.
They all beckoned to Kitty.
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
“Do not look toward them! Look to the
star!” whispered the guardian child.
“Bother the star! What harm is there in
looking toward that pretty garden and those
merry children?” muttered the sprite.
Suddenly there appeared on the path a step
or two in front of Kitty—she could not tell
how he came there or whence he came—the
prettiest little boy. He had a rosy mouth and
laughing blue eyes. He wore a white suit all
embroidered in flowers of lovely tints; his hair
was frizzed and curled.
“We are all waiting for you,” he said in a
coaxing voice, stretching out his hand to her.
“For me!” exclaimed Kitty, very much surprised.
The boy took her hand. She was so much
astonished that she did not hear her guardian
child sighing in her ear, “Beware! beware!” or
feel the sprite dancing on her left shoulder.
Before she knew what she was doing she was
running down into the garden. The moment
she reached it the sound of musical boxes burst
out louder; she was surrounded by little boys
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
and girls who looked at her with sparkling
eyes. Indeed, it seemed to Kitty that everything
looked at her: the peacocks on the sward,
the swans on the water, the birds hovering in
the air or peeping down from the branches,
looked at her; the flowers and grasses stood up
on tiptoe to gaze at her. She felt quite uncomfortable
at attracting so much attention;
she wished she had not gone out in that old
school-room blue serge gown, and that the
blots on her holland pinafore were not so very
conspicuous.
But no one seemed to mind her shabby appearance.
On the contrary, everybody and
everything was bowing to her. The children
bowed, the peacocks bowed; the swans, the
trees, the flowers, the grass bowed.
“Why are they all bowing?” asked Kitty.
“They are all bowing to you because you
are the prettiest little girl in all the world,”
answered her guide. He said it very seriously,
and he looked at her with admiring bright
eyes; everything and everybody murmured,
bowing lower and lower before her, “The
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
prettiest little girl in all the world.” Kitty
was not sure whether she was standing on her
head or on her heels. Her cheeks grew as red
as two red roses.
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[Illustration]
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“De—e—light—ful
to be so
pretty!” murmured
the naughty sprite, striking an attitude,
setting its left paw on its hip, and rolling its
eyes.
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
“Do not believe what they are saying. You
have freckles and a little cocked nose,” whispered
the guardian child.
Kitty felt her nose to feel if it was really
cocked; it was cocked.
“That glass palace is mine. The walls are
made of mirrors. You will see there how
beautiful you are,” said the boy, who still held
her hand.
“In the glass palace you will see,” cried the
children.
They joined hands round Kitty and danced
more and more gayly, more and more quickly.
The music grew merrier, and the sound seemed
to get into Kitty’s head and into her feet. It
set them dancing and made her feel giddy.
Little joy bells seemed beating in her ears.
They were not Christmas bells. “The prettiest
little girl in all the world!” they seemed to
ring again and again, backward and forward, so
that she could not hear the guardian child’s
sigh, “Silly, silly Kitty!”
The boy pulled her along, the dancers pressed
around her and pushed her softly toward the
glass palace.
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
There came a sound of singing.
“Listen,” said the boy; “everything is singing
about you.”
Sure enough, the children, the birds, the
breeze, the peacocks, the swans, the grasshoppers,
sang, murmured, screamed, hummed:
.pm verse-start
“Do you know the violet’s hue?
Do you know the heart’s-ease dyes?
Brighter, deeper is the blue
Shining in sweet Kitty’s eyes.”
.pm verse-end
“Violets!” murmured Kitty; “and Cousin
Charlie said they were no bluer than skimmed
milk.”
.pm verse-start
“Have you seen the marigold
Glowing in the sunshine fair?
It is dim when you behold
Sunshine caught in Kitty’s hair.”
.pm verse-end
“And nurse keeps calling it a mop!” Kitty
muttered with some indignation.
“Just like her,” grunted the naughty sprite.
“But we are now with people who appreciate
us.”
Kitty was so absorbed thinking of how little
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
nurse and Cousin Charlie admired her that she
missed the next verse, until it came to the last
line, then she heard:
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“This is Kitty’s dainty nose.”
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[Illustration: “This is Kitty’s dainty nose.”]
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.if-
“Oh! I wish I had heard what they sang
about my nose,” she exclaimed regretfully.
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
“Your dear funny cocked nose,” whispered
Johnnie’s voice a long way off.
Kitty started. How faint her guardian child
had become. He was just a pale, glimmering,
hovering figure.
“That is a false song you are singing. My
eyes are not violets, my hair is not gold, my
nose is not—” Kitty stopped breathless; she
had not heard what they had sung about her
nose.
“Resist! resist!” cried the guardian child,
who had flown back to her shoulder.
“Resist those kind children, who admire
you!” growled the sprite reproachfully.
“Pretty Kitty!—our Queen Kitty!” cried all
the dancers.
With a laugh they lifted Kitty from her feet
and carried her toward the palace. As she
approached she caught sight of her face reflected
on a sunflower. She saw the sprite standing
up very straight on her left shoulder, with
chest puffed out, and head perked jauntily on
one side. She thought of the vain children in
Punishment Land.
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
“Help me! help me!” she cried to her guardian
child, struggling to her feet and beginning
to strike out right and left and on every
side.
Valiantly the guardian child answered her
cry. With his rosy wings, with his tiny hands
he fought for her, and the tempting children
fell back; sometimes closing round her again
to whisper “Pretty Kitty, pretty Kitty.” The
sprite whispered, “You are pretty, you are
pretty,” and tried to hold back her hands in
the fight.
But still she struggled, and still her guardian
child helped; until at last she found herself,
all bruised, standing in the narrow ascending
path over which hung the star.
“We are in time, Kitsy! we are in time!”
the guardian child sang happily, pointing to
the star, and again there came on her ear that
peal of distant Christmas bells.
“Silly!” hissed the naughty sprite.
“I shall never stray from the right path
again—never!” said Kitty, wiping away some
repentant tears. “I can’t understand myself
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
liking that silly song. I was really beginning
to believe I was quite beautiful.”
And Love’s words came to her mind: “If
you put off, it may be easy at first to resume
the way; but it becomes more and more difficult,
and it might be impossible.”
“No. I shall never leave the right path
again,” she repeated, with great emphasis.
“Never.”
She hurried along once more. She ran, oh,
so fast! It was like a race between the star
gliding above the tree-tops and the little feet
speeding, hastening along the path below.
“Oh, what a delicious smell!” she suddenly
exclaimed, opening wide her nostrils and taking
a deep sniff. Then she gave a great start.
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII||“EAT OR BE EATEN.”
.sp 2
And well she might start, for in the midst of
a kind of steamy odor, like the essence of fifty
kitchens of fifty hotels, added to fifty pastry
cooks’ shops and fifty fruit gardens in the sun,
she heard a gurgle which turned into a voice.
“Good to eat! Roasted, stewed, boiled—which
shall it be?” said some one who popped
out and laid a hand with such suddenness upon
her shoulder that Kitty almost dropped with
fright.
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Apple-Pie Corner.—Page 193.
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[Illustration: Apple-Pie Corner.—Page 193.]
.sp 2
.if-
The creature who held her so tight was
dressed from head to foot in white linen; he
wore an apron and white cap like a French
cook. He twirled a knife, and looked at Kitty
with a pair of bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were
purple and pendulous, his figure was flabby
and fat; it suggested two suet puddings placed
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
on the top of each other, and set upon a pair
of legs. What with his pendulous cheeks and
his bloodshot eyes, he reminded Kitty of an
overfed pug dog.
“Indeed, I am not at all good to eat—not in
any way,” said Kitty with an attempt at dignity,
but in a quavering voice.
“If you’re not good to eat, then you are
ready to eat. Eat or be eaten—that is all life
in a nut-shell.” The creature chuckled.
Kitty felt rather nervous under the glance
of his rolling red eyes, so she did not like to
suggest there was something else to be done
than to eat or be eaten.
“Would you please tell me,” she said politely,
“where this road leads to?”
“Where to! why, to a lot of places. Apple-pie
Corner—Vanilla-cream Pond—Almond-rock
Valley—Barley-sugar Field—Chocolate
Pavilion—lawn tennis with plum-pudding
balls—”
“Oh, don’t—don’t!” cried Kitty, putting up
her hands to her ears. “It sounds as if the
world were nothing but a big dinner-table.”
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
“You’ve hit it to a T! A big dinner-table—with
everything in it eating or being eaten,”
and the creature panted out his words.
“Pray,” said Kitty, jerking her head back,
“would you let me pass? I am in such a
hurry.”
“Not till you have chosen what you will
do—eat or be eaten,” said the creature hoarsely.
“Well, of course, I had rather eat,” said
Kitty reluctantly.
“Pass on, then!” said the being of the pendulous
cheeks, loosing his grasp. And then as
Kitty ran along she heard him puffing, panting,
rumbling out:
“Eat or be eaten—eat or be eaten.”
“What an old prose he is!” thought Kitty.
“One idea goes a long way with him. If he is
a goblin, they should call him ‘Gobbling’
Greediness.”
“Goblin Greediness. Take care!” whispered
the guardian child.
“Oh!” cried Kitty, laughing, “I need only
think of his fat, flabby cheeks and his bloodshot
eyes to lose all care for eating, were I ever
so hungry!”
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
The air seemed to be made up of the scent
of everything she liked best—ripe strawberries
and vanilla-cream, with a touch of pine-apples
and peach. All at once there came a great
puff of chocolate perfume.
“Lo—ove—ly!” sighed Kitty, shutting her
eyes and sniffing.
“Ex—cel—lent!” chuckled the naughty
sprite, opening its nose.
“Shut your nose,” whispered the guardian
child anxiously.
Kitty laughed. She thought it was just a
little exacting of the guardian child to advise
her to shut her nose. What harm could there
be in a perfume, especially if in smelling it she
kept her eyes fixed upon the star, and she did
not stray from the path?
The odor grew more and more enticing. She
took in deeper and deeper breaths of that smell
of ripe sunlighty fruit with an entrancing
suggestion of burnt almonds stealing upon the
breeze.
“It is dangerous! it is dangerous! Think
of the Christmas blessing for Johnnie! Think
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
of the fog picture of the greedy children!”
murmured the guardian child restlessly.
“Oh! what harm can there be in smelling a
taste?” laughed Kitty, with a confident glance
first at the glistening little figure standing erect
and watchful on her right shoulder, then giving
a peep round to the sprite, who was sniffing with
a look of expectation.
“You are not hungry! you are not thirsty!”
whispered the guardian child.
The naughty sprite jogged Kitty’s cheek in
a friendly fashion, and pointed with its furry
paw. She gave a sidelong look in the direction
it indicated. Then she paused in amazement.
Was it fruit-country they were going
through? No wonder it smelled so sweet! Hot-house
fruit and garden fruit grew together in
glowing profusion. There were fields of strawberry-beds,
where the red berries shone like
elfin lanterns through the fresh green leaves.
There were plantations of bananas, and each
banana was like a hatchet of gold. There were
martial-looking pine-apples burnished like copper
helmets, guarded by pale-green swords of
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
spiky leaves. Enormous bunches of grapes
hung down, each grape big as a plum; purple
grapes, grapes blue on one side, redly transparent
on the other; white grapes golden and
gleaming. And oh! the peaches and the nectarines
were as plentiful as blackberries.
A thousand tiny voices seemed to be calling
to Kitty in audible gusts of perfume: “Eat
us! taste us! with the touch of sunshine upon
us!”
“Is there any any harm to pluck and eat
some of that delicious fruit?” asked Kitty, who
had never felt such a desire to set her teeth in
a juicy peach.
“No Christmas! no blessing! no Johnnie! if
you loiter,” murmured the guardian child.
“You are not in need of food. You are not
hungry—you are not thirsty—it would be
greediness.”
“Suck!” said the naughty sprite. He had
plucked an enormous strawberry and put it to
Kitty’s mouth.
“Don’t!” whispered the guardian child.
Kitty looked up impatiently. His eyes were
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
fixed on the star. He looked so bright, so
good, so like Johnnie, Kitty felt ashamed and
put the strawberry aside.
“Silly!” hissed the naughty sprite.
“Christmas blessing! Christmas blessing!”
laughed the guardian child as Kitty set off
running up the narrow path, closing her eyes
not to see the tempting fruit.
A sound of many feet made her open her eyes.
Helter! skelter! a crowd of children were
bounding along, all in one direction, laughing
as they went.
“Only a few steps more! only a few steps
more!” murmured the guardian child.
“And we’ll be out of the pleasantest, sweetest-smelling,
merriest place,” growled the
naughty sprite, with a great roll of rrs and hiss
of ss.
One boy lingered behind the other children.
He was a jovial-looking little fellow with
twinkling blue eyes squeezed up into his ruddy
cheeks, the corners of his lips curled up comfortably.
He had a comical friendly air; he
reminded Kitty of a child Father Christmas.
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
“You are going the wrong way for the big
pie,” he said, in a voice that sounded like a
deep rich murmur. It was a comfortable,
suetty sort of a voice.
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[Illustration]
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“The big pie!” replied Kitty, surprised and
interested. The naughty sprite gave a caper.
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
“Do not loiter!” whispered the guardian
child.
“The biggest pie that ever was made, and
the best. Such a pie!” cried the boy. He
gathered his fat finger-tips in a bunch, kissed
them and spread them open in the air, as if
words failed to describe that pie.
“I am following the star,” Kitty remarked
in a depressed but resolute tone.
“Time enough after you have had a slice of
pie,” whispered the sprite insinuatingly.
“Look! the star is passing away,” urged the
guardian child.
“I’ll think you’re an affected silly,” said the
boy.
“I am not an affected silly,” cried Kitty,
turning very red.
“Come along, then.”
Kitty felt her palm and fingers rolled up in
a soft warm pudding of a hand, and she allowed
herself to be dragged along.
What a run that was! The grapes touched
her lips as she passed like silken fingers, the
bananas gave delicious blows to her cheeks,
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
the peaches caressed her with their velvet skins,
the cherries pelted her.
She passed by a brown pool of chocolate-cream,
in which ladies’ fingers stood up like
reeds. She ran across a field where barley-sugar
grew, and crystallized wild flowers. She
came to a valley strewn with immense lumps
like bowlders of almond-rock.
There the great table was set, under a pavilion
made of gingerbread. The pie rose in
the center. It was an immense pie, as big as a
one-story house with its roof on, and it was all
angles and bulges. It was white with sugar.
All around it was clustered every dainty that
could be imagined.
Children smacking their lips were assembled,
and the moment the fat boy took his seat at
the head of the table, with Kitty at his right
hand, they all began to help themselves.
Kitty’s fingers itched to close over the delicious,
crisp, sugary morsels spread near her.
“Don’t!” sighed the guardian child each
time she stretched out her hand.
The naughty sprite licked its lips and
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
smacked its tongue. It was all in a tremble of
delight, and repeated the names of all the good
things around in a most expressive tone, that
seemed to bring their flavor to Kitty’s mouth.
More and more she longed for delicious things
to eat and drink. Yet every time her hand
was stretched out to snatch at something near
her—
“Don’t!” murmured the guardian child.
“Eat, drink, and never mind,” urged the
sprite in a jovial, don’t-care manner.
Kitty shook her head, as if shaking off the
thought of consequences. She would eat. She
stretched out her hand; it closed upon a big,
crisp sugar-plum. She put it to her mouth.
The naughty sprite crouched like a pouncing
pussy.
“Greedy, greedy! No Christmas! No
Johnnie! No blessing!” sighed a breath in
her ear.
Kitty looked up; her guardian child, pale as
a ghost, was vanishing away, but still his eyes
were turned toward her. They were Johnnie’s
eyes.
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
She dropped the sugar-plum. “No, no!” she
cried, springing to her feet. “I shall not eat;
I shall not drink!”
There was a great scuffle round her; the
guests had started to their feet.
Kitty clapped her hands against her ears,
not to hear her naughty sprite crying out
“Silly, silly!” She was surrounded by the
children; they tried to force sweet, cool
fruit and sugar-plums between her lips. All
the while that craving for good things that
was not hunger or thirst fought against her
like a wolf; but she went blindly on resisting.
How long the struggle lasted she could not
tell, but all at once Kitty knew her enemies
had left her.
That faint peal of distant Christmas bells
again sounded in her ear, and looking up
she found herself on the steep and narrow path,
the star shining above her.
“Conquered! conquered! Good old Kitsy!
good old Kitsy!” sang her guardian child, in
the old familiar comforting words, as he fanned
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
her with his rosy wings. He seemed brighter,
rosier than ever.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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The sprite glared at her with wild eyes, full
of disappointment.
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
“I shall never reach my journey’s end,”
cried Kitty, bursting into tears. “If I could
but rest a little while—just a little while—before
going on further through that dreadful
wood.”
“Look, you may rest; the star has stopped,”
said her guardian child, pointing.
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII||PLAY-GROUND, AND AFTER.
.sp 2
It was the prettiest spot in that grim forest;
it appeared so peaceful and bright. Blackberry
and wild-raspberry bushes, on which the fruit
shone glossy and ripe, grew all around; a spring
gurgled up from a bed of moss. The grass,
patterned over with wild-flowers, was more
lovely than any carpet woven by man. Some
one had spread upon it a little feast: there was
a jug of milk, bread and butter, and honey and
cakes.
Kitty wondered who was coming to feast on
these simple dainties, for though she peered
through the bushes she saw nobody. Yet
somebody had found a delightful place for a
picnic.
“Eat,” said the guardian child.
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
“But why may I eat here, when I could not
eat there?” asked Kitty.
“You want food, and the star has stayed to
let you rest. You will not be greedy if you
eat now. You will be innocent and good; so
long as the star watches there is no danger of
evil.”
Kitty sat down, and the guardian child came
down and became her little host. He offered
her fruit and honey; he gathered blackberries
for her. Perhaps the naughty sprite was sulking;
perhaps it was sleeping; it did not move,
but lay curled up in a little ball.
Kitty ate and drank. The birds hopped
about her; the squirrels peeped at her from
the branches; a field-mouse eyed her with its
bright and furtive glance; a crowd of lovely
wild things watched her. The shy creatures
drew around the guardian child; they seemed
to know he was Love’s messenger. He sang,
and the birds sang in answer. A little callow,
yellow-beaked nestling had fallen out of its nest,
and was crying piteously. Had it lost its
mother? The guardian child fed it and gently
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
put it back into its mossy cradle. It was the
friendliest scene. All around the coral-eyed
pimpernels were wide open.
“It will be fine weather,” said the guardian
child. “They are play-ground’s weather-clock.
The sun whispers to them what it means to do
during the day. Tick, tick; these are play-ground’s
clock,” he went on, pointing to bell-like
blossoms, some tight-closed, others half-unclosed,
others wide open. “They tell the hour.
The wind winds them up. Hush! listen to the
tick-tick of the leaves.”
When Kitty had rested awhile, she and her
guardian child began to play together. They
blew bubbles through long reeds, and rainbow-tinted
pictures seemed to form on the bubbles.
Kitty looked to see what these pictures were,
but they faded away and broke before she was
quite sure that she had made them out. They
ran races together. Kitty thought she never
had so merry and gentle a play-fellow as her
guardian child; and as they played together he
seemed to grow more and more like Johnnie.
The wild woodland animals frisked and gamboled
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
about them; butterflies and dragon-flies
darted around. Kitty thought it was just like
the story of the blue rose come true, and
that Play-ground Land was the mysterious
garden she had imagined.
When the games seemed merriest the Love
spirit suddenly stopped playing, and perched
once more upon Kitty’s shoulder.
“Look!” he said, pointing upward. “The
star is moving.”
Yes, the fiery heart of the star had begun to
beat, and already it was beginning to glide over
the tree-tops.
“Oh!” Kitty exclaimed in dismay, “cannot
we play a little longer?”
Just at that moment the loveliest butterfly
twinkled past. It looked like a flower on
wings. Because the dance had not got out of
Kitty’s toes she began to dance after it.
A little girl now dashed out of the wood.
She had the liveliest face, the whitest teeth, the
merriest eyes Kitty had ever seen. Golden
bells tinkled on her pointed cap and on her dress.
Tinkle, tinkle went those golden bells as she
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
ran. She seized Kitty by the hand, and before
Kitty could say yes or no, she found herself
running with her hand clasped in that of the
strange child.
Kitty had never run so fast; the breeze
seemed to run with her; the carpet of soft moss
seemed to speed them along; the birds seemed
to say, “Quick, quick; who’ll go faster, our
wings or your feet?”
The sprite sniffed the woodland air with immense
satisfaction; it was as wide awake now
as it had been fast asleep before.
The guardian child whispered in Kitty’s ear,
“Enough, enough; you have played enough.”
The star glided in the sky over the narrow
path that stretched away like a straight white
ribbon under the forest trees.
At last Kitty stopped, out of breath, at the
foot of a branching tree. A little bird caroled
above a merry song.
“I wonder if it has a musical box or a whistle
in its throat. Would you not like to open it
to find out?” said Kitty’s new play-fellow, shaking
the golden bells in her cap.
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
“Yes—no—I don’t know,” panted Kitty, who
was so much out of breath she had not a notion
what she was saying, or if she was standing on
her head or her heels.
Again the beautiful butterfly she had seen
twinkled past on its wings like flowers.
“Catch it!” cried the little girl, seizing
Kitty’s hand once more, and, willy-nilly, away
she was speeding again. Run—run—through
the alleys and glades of the deep forest; run—run—across
a park-like clearance, and still the
butterfly fluttered before. Like a will-o’-the-wisp
it went, up and down, now here, now
there, always before them. Settling down a
moment—then off again just as they neared it.
To the right—to the left—Kitty was beginning
to feel angry at the dance that butterfly was
leading them. The oftener it escaped the more
determined she grew to catch it. She was so
eager that she did not hear the warning sigh
of her guardian child, “It is so happy; it is so
happy. Don’t hurt it!” She heard only the
shrill cry of the naughty sprite standing on her
left shoulder and shrieking, “At it now! Up
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
with it! Now’s your time! Now you’ve got
it! Tally ho! tally ho!”
“Tinkle, tinkle,” went her playmate’s golden
bells, quicker, quicker rushed these four racing
little feet. At last the naughty sprite whispered,
“Hush! Down upon it?”
They stopped running; they drew in their
breath; they crept on tiptoe, softly—softly.
Yes, there on a gray stone stretched the butterfly—a
lovely flamy thing; all blue and pink
and delicate golden markings. Softly it balanced
itself, backward and forward, giving an
occasional shake and quiver to its wings.
Kitty’s spirit was roused; she was in a manner
angry with that winged creature that had escaped
her so long. Now, with one blow of her
little hand the swift tiny thing might lie there
still forever.
The naughty sprite whispered, “Down upon
it!”
Up flashed Kitty’s hand.
“I was so merry, merry,” whispered a voice
in her ear.
“It is only a butterfly,” urged the sprite.
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
Kitty looked up. Her guardian child was
pale as a dying child, he who had been so rosy
such a little while ago; and in that upward
glance Kitty perceived that all around, the
woodland creatures were gazing at her. The
birds, the field-mice, the rabbits with flapping
ears, the hares had stopped running to look, the
squirrels chatting and cracking their nuts, the
dragon-flies hung suspended about like animated
jewels, green frogs, and toads with wonderful
eyes, all were looking at her, but not as they
had looked in Play-ground Land. In all their
eyes, that had been so friendly and trustful,
there was now a fear and a reproach.
“Are you the same Kitty whom we trusted?”
they seemed to be saying. “Will you take
one of our innocent, joyous lives, just for
play?”
“No, I will not,” cried Kitty; and she let a
tear drop upon the butterfly. And a low cry
of joy burst from God’s lovely, helpless, wild
creatures, and the forest trees stirred as if drawing
a sigh of relief.
“Silly!” hissed the naughty sprite; and away
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
scampered the strange little girl in a pout, and
tinkling her golden bells.
But the guardian child, all rosy with gladness,
laughed, and its laugh had the velvety
note of the blackbird’s whistle; and again there
sounded on Kitty’s ear that airy peal of Christmas
bells.
But Kitty’s little heart was still sore with
the reproach of the wild animals’ questioning
eyes.
“They trusted me!” she sobbed, “and I
would have killed one of them for play.”
“Who was that little girl who ran so fast?”
she asked her guardian child when she once
more found herself standing upon the narrow
path following the star.
“Thoughtlessness,” he replied; “and I can
answer for it, nothing runs so fast as that
empty-headed creature can race along.”
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV||“I AND MYSELF.”
.sp 2
Kitty stopped and looked around, for she
heard a muttering as of two people talking confidentially
together.
Yes, there were two figures in front of her,
standing with their arms round each other’s
necks. They were so like that Kitty felt sure
they were twins. They had satisfied round eyes
and big faces and double chins, and wore
steeple-crowned hats, tilted on one side, which
gave them a jaunty look.
All at once Kitty started back, for she perceived
that one of the figures was solid and the
other quite transparent; through it she could
see the tree against which it leaned.
“Why—who—who—what is that?” she
gasped nervously.
“That is Myself,” said the opaque one, rolling
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
his eyes with an affectionate grin in the
direction of his comrade, who rolled his pale
round eyes and grinned a ghostly grin in answer.
“Then who are you?” asked Kitty timidly.
“I—why, I am I,” he answered rather sullenly.
“That’s what we are—Myself and I,” said a
voice hard and thin like a spectral rattle, which
Kitty perceived emanated from the vapory
figure.
“I never knew there was a difference between
Myself and I,” murmured Kitty, who felt compelled
to gaze at that transparent form, although
she would much rather not have looked. It
was so very uncomfortable to see that tree
through it.
“I made him; is he not a beauty?” said I,
proudly pointing with his thumb, and a grin to
his companion.
Myself acknowledged the compliment by
bowing his misty head, and grinning likewise.
“How did you make him?” asked Kitty with
a little shiver.
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
“I made him,” said I, “with my thoughts. I
thought of myself night and day, talking, eating,
walking, sleeping, I thought of myself, and
one day there was Myself before me—the dear—he
never quits me—never—we gaze at each
other—we love each other.”
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.if-
“And we love nobody else—nobody—nobody—nobody
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
else,” joined in the thin rattle
of a voice.
“Are you never tired of each other?—I—mean—of—of—well,
I don’t know how to put
it—quite—for you are not each other,” said
Kitty.
“Tired!” shrieked the two voices together;
and then the two beings fell into each other’s
arms.
“If you please,” said Kitty, after having
watched this scene of affection, and feeling
rather neglected, “will you tell me if it is a
long way out of this wood?”
“A very long way,” said I, cheerily looking
up.
“We don’t care a dump how long it is, provided
we have not to walk it,” chimed Myself,
airily wagging its head.
“I am very tired,” said Kitty despondently,
and tears rushed into her eyes.
“I suppose you are,” remarked I indifferently.
“That is no matter to us,” said Myself, grinning
his ghostly smile.
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
“I cannot offer you this seat,” said I, “for
Myself must sit there. I am afraid of tiring
Myself. It is a duty I owe to Myself, never to
tire Myself—precious one—never to let Myself
be hungry or thirsty—dearest creature—or
any harm come to Myself—excellent fellow.”
Saying this I and Myself sat down side by
side on the mossy roots of a tree, and looked
up at Kitty with a grin that made the
spectral face of Myself more than ever like
that of I.
“Selfish thing!” muttered Kitty indignantly.
“It must be Goblin Selfishness.”
“Yes, Goblin Selfishness,” whispered the
guardian child, and his voice was anxious.
“Take care!”
“Oh!” said Kitty, once more setting off at a
run, “there’s no danger for me. It will be
enough to think of that creepy, misty, ugly
Myself, never to think of myself again,
lest—”
But she stopped.
“Well, here is some one coming who is not
running,” cried Kitty, laughing.
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
“The walking picture of Cleverness,” the
naughty sprite chuckled.
.if h
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[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
If it was a little old man or a very old-looking
boy who now approached Kitty could not
determine. He wore a pair of blue spectacles
astride upon his hooked nose, which jutted out
over very thin lips, and was rather blue and
frost-bitten. Altogether he was uncommonly
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
like an owl, Kitty thought. Whoever he was,
this personage walked slowly, holding a sun-shade
open in one hand, and a warm overcoat
slung over his other arm. He was apparently
prepared to meet every sort of weather. Kitty
noticed also that his ears were stuffed with
cotton-wool.
“Well,” she said aloud, addressing nobody
in particular, and with a broad smile, “this
must be Mr. Take-care-of-himself.”
“An excellent name,” answered the little old
man, or the very old-looking boy. The cotton-wool
in his ears did not seem to deafen sound.
“And I would advise you to deserve such a
name.”
“Not if I must wear those big spectacles to
deserve it,” laughed Kitty.
“Don’t say a word against my spectacles till
you have looked through them,” answered her
new acquaintance.
He had a cold, crisp voice, and he seemed to
peck his words as a fowl pecks grain. From
his pocket he pulled out another pair of blue
glasses. “Just try this pair and tell me what
you see.”
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
“Don’t!” whispered the guardian child.
“Do, just for the fun of it,” urged the naughty
sprite in a coaxing tone.
“I shall wait till I want spectacles to make
a fright of myself,” said Kitty, and she would
have walked on.
“What do you see?” asked the blue-spectacled
personage, rubbing the glasses he had
taken out of his breast-pocket.
“I see,” said Kitty, “the wood. A little way
off I see a delicious swing-swong seat made of
moss, hanging between two trees. Yes, I see a
little pale child, all in rags, a cripple, leaning
on his crutch. He wants to get on the swing-swong.
Oh, I shall run and help him!”
“Just take a peep at the same scene through
these spectacles,” said the odd-looking being.
“Don’t!” whispered the guardian child.
“Just a peep to please him,” urged the sprite
good-naturedly.
“Well, only a peep,” said Kitty, and she
set the blue spectacles on her nose.
At first she saw nothing at all. Everything
was dancing, whirling about her. The earth
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
seemed to rush up into the sky, the sky seemed
to swoop down upon the earth.
Then the scene began to clear. She saw the
same tree, but it looked more shady and delightful;
the same mossy seat, but now it appeared
more inviting. The sunshine seemed
brighter in that spot, the shade cooler; it appeared
the loveliest nook she had ever set eyes
upon. The child struck her as a white, dwarfish,
ugly little intruder—a sort of small monster.
What right had it to be there? He spoiled
the place.
“We’ll drive him off,” said the owl-faced
being.
“But he’ll cry,” said Kitty uncomfortably.
“Just put a small piece of this cotton-wool
into your ear,” suggested her new acquaintance,
offering her some that he drew out of his
breast-pocket.
Kitty took a morsel hesitatingly and put it
into her right ear; the naughty sprite extended
its paw, took a larger bit, and clapped it into
her left ear.
At first Kitty thought she had grown quite
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
deaf—a great silence seemed to close around
her, yet she heard the swish of the trees and
the song of the birds; but some sound was
missing, some sound that she was accustomed
to hear. Then she knew that there had been
ever present a murmur in her ear, as that of
other children weeping, other children laughing.
It was this little throbbing music, sad and
gay, that she no longer heard. Through the
silence the naughty sprite in her own voice
cried: “I want to swing in this mossy seat, in
the place of that ugly, sick-looking child.”
So lovely appeared that sheltered nook, so
aggravatingly comfortable the pale child, that
Kitty set off at a run. As she ran she shivered;
as if winter had suddenly overtaken her on that
sunshiny day.
What was it? Colder and colder, like a
chain of ice round her throat. Kitty put up
her hands to feel what was there. The naughty
sprite was hugging her close.
She stopped running. Where was the guardian
child? She could see it nowhere. Could
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
the spectacles be blinding her to the sight of
its sweet face? She tried to take them off; but
they seemed to have become part of her nose.
Pull, pull went Kitty. At last, with a
wrench that seemed to root up her nose, she
detached them and threw them a long way off.
Yes, high above her, restlessly hovering,
wringing its hands, she now could just see her
guardian child, white as the winter moon when
the sun is still shining. Its lips moved, but
she could not hear what it said. The wool
in her ears made her deaf to the sound of its
voice.
With a tug Kitty pulled out the horrid,
clinging cotton-wool; then she heard the voice
of her guardian child, crying, “Don’t turn away
the cripple!” and with that voice back came
the old sound, like a familiar song, sad and gay,
crooning in her ear, and the clamp of a little
crutch, telling a pitiful story of tiny feet that
would never run or dance.
The cripple grasped his crutch and was hurrying
away, when Kitty ran to him, took his
thin hand, and led him back to the mossy seat.
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
She kissed the pale, thin face, and her tears
dropped upon it, and down came the guardian
child on her shoulder, more beautiful than ever,
its wings like pink flowers, its hair like a crown
of light. In another moment the naughty sprite
had dropped its arms from Kitty’s neck, and out
pealed the distant Christmas bells.
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[Illustration]
.sp 2
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“Oh, I never thought I should have been so
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
selfish!” sobbed Kitty; “and the child was a
cripple like Johnnie.”
The hot tears blinded her, but the guardian
child dried them as they fell with his bright
wings. Never had he looked so sweet, so good,
so bright, so like a tiny angel Johnnie. Kitty
stretched out her hands; she would have liked
to press him to her heart, but the guardian
child shook his head. “Wait, wait! The journey
is not over yet,” he murmured.
“It is so long, so difficult!” cried Kitty as
once more she stood upon the narrow path, and
the star moved above it, seeming more than
ever like a bird of fire winging its fearless way.
“I shall not fall into another temptation. I
shall not listen to what any one says whom I
may meet. I shall do just what you tell me,
you darling, pretty Johnnie spirit.”
The way lay now through a lovely bit of
country; the honeysuckle twined above, the
soft grass was thick with flowers. A little
breeze carried the sweetest, quaintest perfumes;
it was as if everything was rejoicing and in
amity with her. The path seemed to be growing
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
less difficult; it ascended with a pleasant
easy swell. Kitty now went merrily along; the
hard journey must be near its close. The guardian
child fluttered hither and thither, sometimes
hiding among the flowers and laughing at
her through the petals. The sprite remained
silent and quiet.
All at once the guardian child flew back to
its post on Kitty’s shoulder; the self-sprite
picked up its pointed ears.
“Something is going to happen,” thought
Kitty; “but I shall be wise, I shall not talk to
any one, however beautiful or comical.”
She looked ahead, but no one was advancing.
The road went in and out through the pleasant
trees, the star glided above them.
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV||WAS IT JOHNNIE’S FACE?
.sp 2
How strange it seemed! Something was
going to happen, yet all was so still, and there
was nothing to disturb the scene.
Suddenly a bluebird flew across. It settled
on a bush starry with wild white roses. It put
its head on one side and looked at Kitty with
the brightest, friendliest eyes. It was quite
blue, except for a tuft of golden feathers on its
head, and a line of golden feathers round its
neck like a fairy necklace. Kitty had never
seen anything so wonderful as this bluebird.
She stopped to look at it, and the bird looked
back at her with its winning eyes. Kitty advanced
on tiptoe, and it fluttered a little
further into the wood. As it flew off it uttered
a note.
“Listen!” said the naughty sprite, lifting its
paw and giving Kitty a pat.
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
What a note that was! “Glug! glug! glug!”
deep as the whistle of a bullfinch, then “Tri—ll—ill—ill!”
it went like a lark caroling up
in the sky; then suddenly the song changed,
and now it was like a nightingale singing in
the moonlight. Kitty’s heart swelled as she
listened to the song of the beautiful creature,
and as it sang it skimmed through the wood,
now floating like a sea-gull on blue wings, now
balancing itself on the branch of one of the
forest trees.
“Come on! Do not put off any longer. It
sings to keep you from following the star,”
whispered the guardian child.
“Ah! let me listen a moment!” pleaded
Kitty.
“Listen! listen!” said the naughty sprite,
and down it gamboled from Kitty’s shoulder,
seeming to call and to entice the bird, which
flew out of the wood and perched on a bough
singing; the tuft of golden feathers on its head
stood up like a crown, its golden necklace rose
like a ruff round its throat.
The sprite laughed, tossed back its head,
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
frisked about, keeping time to the bluebird’s
song. Kitty thought it was the prettiest
sight.
“Watch the star! The bird is a temptation—it
is idle pleasure. See, it plays with your
naughty sprite. It sings to lead you astray,”
whispered the guardian child, and its pink wings
fluttered in a tremor of anxiety.
Still Kitty lingered.
“Come on, for Johnnie’s sake—to win a
Christmas blessing for Johnnie!” urged the
guardian child.
Kitty turned quickly in the direction to
which the guardian child pointed. The star
was gliding no longer over the pleasant wood;
its course lay over a path that was very steep,
bordered by no flowers, shaded by no overhanging
trees. She ran some steps, and her guardian
child pressed its rosy wings against her ears to
muffle the song of the bird.
But louder and louder it sang, and that
piercing melody seemed to coil itself like a
string round Kitty’s heart, pulling her back.
She stopped running. The bird seemed to
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
sing of frolics, and Kitty felt as if games of
four-corners, blind-man’s-buff, hide-and-go-seek
were all hustling and bustling about in her
head, and tingling
in her feet.
She turned to
look.
.if h
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.if-
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.sp 2
[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
“Don’t!”
murmured her
guardian
child.
But Kitty
looked. The
naughty sprite
and the bluebird
were having
a merry
game. The
bird flew as it
sang and the
sprite gamboled
after it; it hid in the bushes and the sprite
went frisking and seeking for it; then up the
bluebird would fly and wheel round and round,
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
singing as if a thousand musical glasses were
tinkling in its throat. The sprite had the drollest
air; jerking his head on one side and
beckoning to Kitty.
“Oh! let me join in the game!” cried Kitty,
and back she ran toward the bird and the
sprite.
The guardian child flew around her, crying,
“Do not play with your naughty sprite!”
As he spoke he spread his wings before
Kitty’s eyes. But the music was in Kitty’s
heart, in her ears, it seemed to be in her hair,
in her feet—it was everywhere.
“I shall play!” she cried impatiently, and
she pushed away her guardian child.
She did not hear his sob, she did not notice
that she had struck his wing and that some
rosy feathers lay strewn on the ground.
One little rosy feather had dropped on the
bosom of her dress, and was caught there by
the folds.
She did look round to see her guardian child,
with drooping wing, growing paler and paler—vanishing
away.
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
Deeper and deeper flew the bird into the
wood, and sweeter grew its song. The naughty
sprite gamboled after it, Kitty gamboled after
the sprite. A star rose in the wood; it was
like a blue diamond; it did not glide above the
tree-tops, it danced about the ground, as if it
were dancing to the song of the bluebird.
The naughty sprite scampered up the tree and
pelted Kitty with acorns; it now peeped at
her from behind the trunks, now swung itself
down and jumped into her arms all in a pant
and tremble of play. And the bluebird
wheeled and circled above Kitty’s head, and
still it sang.
Skipping out of the wood came a hundred
little creatures. They all had pointed ears,
curly tails, and sparkling black eyes. They
carried tiny lanterns that were blue and dazzling
as the star. They were the merriest, most
frolicsome of elves, but the friskiest and most
fascinating of all was Kitty’s naughty self-sprite.
Louder sang the bird and louder; its song
was now a dancing measure; it echoed through
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
the forest as if gayety were the single spirit of
the place. The blue star bounded and danced
about the ground, here, there, everywhere, as if
it had gone crazy with delight. The playful
creatures danced and waved their lanterns, zigzag,
up and down, crossing, circling in a merry
maze. Kitty seized the fore paws of her
naughty sprite, and dance, dance, dance they
danced together. Livelier and livelier grew
the bluebird’s song, and madder and madder
grew the dance.
All at once—wh-ir-r—the bird’s melody had
changed to something between a screech and a
rattle. Kitty looked up. Twinkle, twinkle,
round and round, like a flaming Catherine
wheel, the bluebird’s wings quivered and
shook; its tuft of golden feathers disappeared
from its head; the gold collar faded from its
neck; the light that shone in its blue wings
was extinguished, and instead of the bird there
hung on the branch where it had perched a big
black slug.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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Kitty started. What a transformation scene!
All around her moved a thousand foul and ugly
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
shapes. The pretty frisking creatures had
turned to scaly black beetles as big as rats: some
wriggled like
adders; others
looked like monster
earwigs,
with tails like
pinchers; others were little men with heads
of frogs; and the ugliest of all was her naughty
sprite. It had cruel eyes, and its fur was black
and coarse like bristles. Once more it sprang
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
upon her shoulder, and laughed and muttered,
“No Christmas! No blessing! No Johnnie!”
Kitty felt quite cold. She looked round to
her right shoulder. No guardian child perched
there. She looked up to the sky for her guiding
star, but it was gone. She was alone in the
pathless woods with her naughty sprite grinning
and muttering. It seemed to her also that
a mist was closing around her. Then Kitty
gave a great cry. “My guardian child! my
guardian child!” she called.
Her cry was repeated by a thousand shrill,
mocking voices.
“No Christmas! No blessing! No Johnnie!”
“Look!” muttered the sprite, pointing.
Kitty perceived something lying white on
the ground. At first she thought it was a lily,
then she saw it was a pale white face, lying
very still, with closed eyes and a rim of golden
hair around its forehead. Was it Johnnie’s
face?
As she peered fearfully to see, the mist
gathered and hid it. Then she found that a
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
dreadful thing was happening; the bushes were
closing round her. She set off at a run to find
an opening, but there was none—round and
round—closer and closer the bushes gathered.
“Punishment Land!” muttered the sprite.
“Punishment Land!” echoed the mocking
voices.
Faintly Kitty heard a sound of tramping.
Little feet were running round and round,
backward and forward, zigzag; rebellious,
weary, foolish, perplexed little feet.
Then she knew that she had fallen back,
that she was in Disobedience Maze. It was the
fog of Punishment Land that was rising about
her, blotting out the sight of everything but of
one little pink feather that lay, a rosy streak,
close to her heart.
“My guardian child! my guardian child!”
she cried with all her might.
“You wounded it; you drove it away,”
chuckled the evil sprite.
Kitty put her hands up to her ears to shut
out that jeering voice. She cried the louder.
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
“My guardian child! Forgive me! forgive
me! Come back to me!”
There came a flutter of wings, something
bright was flying toward her, piercing its way
through the fog; yes, it was her guardian child
dragging one wing, but bravely beating the air
with the other, fluttering toward her, pale, its
rainbow dress faintly shining, its eyes bright
with tears.
“Because you trusted me Love sent me back
to you,” it murmured as it nestled in Kitty’s
outstretched arms. She burst into a great fit
of grateful tears, while the sprite cowered and
trembled.
“Hurry!” whispered the guardian child.
“The star is gone. It will be difficult to find
the path, but you must follow where I lead.”
A cry rose in Kitty’s heart: “I shall follow
wherever you lead;” but she remembered how
she had most disobeyed after she had most
protested, so she sobbed and was silent.
Through the mist shone the rainbow-clothed
form of the guardian child, and Kitty followed.
Wherever her guide told her to plant her foot
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
she placed it; through marshy ground that
quivered and shook under her, where crawling
things like living roots wound themselves about
her feet, as if to drag her down, through narrow
places where creatures that seemed all arms
sought to clasp her and hold her back, over
thorns that bruised and scratched her as she
walked. Kitty followed her guardian child
without a murmur. Tormenting apparitions
waved their tiny lanterns and showed her an
easier path, but Kitty did not glance aside.
She kept her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the
rosy-winged figure that went before her. One
question only lay heavy at her heart. That
lily-white face she had seen through the mist,
was it Johnnie’s dead face? Ah! had she lost
the Christmas blessing?
All at once, when the way seemed most perplexing,
the guardian child gave a cry and
pointed upward. A light was breaking over
the tree-tops. It was the star!
Out of the mist stepped Kitty and her guide,
upon the pathway, and there pealed a chime of
Christmas bells. Not distant bells, but clear
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
and joyous, filling the air. The sky was yellow
as with the dawn; the summer had passed; the
snow lay white on the ground.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.bn 259.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI||AT THE GATE.
.sp 2
Kitty rubbed her eyes.
Where was she?
She was just at home. She was in the old
familiar wood, the entrance into which she
could see from Johnnie’s window. No, there
could be no mistake; there was the pool, its
silky mantle of duckweed now glistening with
ice. There, yes, there was the gate shaded by
the gnarled elm, its branches like a candelabrum
of snow.
It is the gate of the wood. Kitty flies along
the path till she has reached it. She stands
and looks. The dear old home picture is there
before her. She sees the old village street, the
sweet-stuff shop is just round the corner. There
is the square tower of the church, covered with
ivy, and there is her home. Over its red-gabled
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
roof the star is shining in a sky, yellow as a
bed of cowslips. There is Johnnie’s window;
the blue curtains are drawn across it. No
one is stirring. There is no one in the
garden; the house door is closed; the blinds
are all down. Kitty looks fondly at the
dear tranquil scene. It is like the loveliest
dream. She feasts her eyes a moment upon
it, then comes in her heart the question:
“Am I in time? What secret does that blue-curtained
window hide? Is Johnnie better or
is he—”
Kitty tries to push open the gate. It is
locked. She pulls at the latch: she cannot lift
it. She tries to climb over the gate: it seems
to grow higher and higher. She cannot reach
the top. Then she hammers with her little
closed fists at the lock, pushing against it with
all the strength of her body.
“Open, open!” she cries.
Will not some one come to open to her?
“Mother, mother!” again cries Kitty with
all her might. Will no one open?
Yes, some one is coming. Is it her mother
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
coming toward her across the meadow? It is
a pale lady robed in white; and as her long
fair mantle trails on the ground a flash of rainbow
light glows a moment and then fades from
the snow.
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[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
It is Love. Her face is bright and tender.
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
Her gentle fingers are on the latch. The
Christmas bells are ringing louder and louder.
A great joy seizes Kitty. She is in time!
She is in time!
“Have you resisted all the temptations?”
asks Love in her gentle searching voice. “Did
you never once lose sight of the star? Did you
never hurt your guardian child, or play with
your naughty sprite?”
“If you say that you did everything that
you should not have done, you will not see
Johnnie, or hear anything about him. You will
have to go back to Punishment Land,” mutters
the sprite.
A cold fear seizes Kitty.
“Tell the truth!” whispers her guardian
child.
“I must see Johnnie! Oh! I must see Johnnie!
Open the gate!” cries Kitty.
“Did you resist the temptations?” asks Love
again, her fingers remaining motionless on the
latch.
“Do not answer—smile! That will seem
good,” whispers the sprite.
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
The idea strikes Kitty as a happy one. A
smile is not telling a falsehood. She makes an
effort as she broadens her lips into what looks
like a grin; she thinks Love’s fingers are beginning
to press the latch.
“The smile means a falsehood. Tell the
truth!” whispers the guardian child.
“You have not answered!” again says Love’s
voice.
“Open the gate,” entreats Kitty in anguish.
“Why are you called Love when you can stand
there and not open the gate for me? I want
to see Johnnie. I want to know if he is alive.
Oh! it is Christmas morning. Open the gate,
open the gate!”
Kitty has pushed her hands through the bars
as she implores. She has caught hold of Love’s
fingers, and is trying to force her to push up
the latch. But still the strong hands remain
motionless.
“Answer!” repeats the gentle, relentless
voice.
“Say, how could I have come so far to the
end of the journey you set me if I had not
obeyed?” muttered the sprite.
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
Kitty draws a long breath. That seems a
right thing to say. It is not false, for she is
here at the journey’s end.
She begins, “How could I ha—” when she
hears the guardian angel’s whisper:
“Evasion is falsehood. Tell the truth.”
Then Kitty falls on her knees.
“Oh, why are you called Love,” she repeats,
“when you are so severe? Why will you keep
pressing me with questions? It is Christmas
morning! Let me see Johnnie! Let me see
Johnnie!”
But Love answers only: “The day is dawning.
You must answer.”
“Answer truly!” whispers the guardian
child. “Never mind what happens. Answer
truly.”
Kitty puts her hands over her eyes, not to
see that dear home-picture fade away, that
curtained window vanish from her sight without
knowing the secret that it hides concerning
Johnnie.
.if h
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[Illustration]
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.if-
“I loitered with every temptation,” she says
very low but very clearly; “but my guardian
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
child helped me to escape, till at last I struck
it and drove it away. Then I lost sight of the
star, and I played with my naughty sprite.”
Kitty’s voice
fails here, and
with a sob she
stretches herself
down on
the snow.
She hides her face. She will not see the mist of Punishment Land rise,
and blot out that loved familiar scene. She closes her ears, not to
hear the tramp of
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
the restless feet, the sobbings and cries of the
children there.
What sound pierces through the silence and
reaches muffled through the hands pressed
tightly against her ears? She removes them
and listens. It is the sound of bells, Christmas
bells. Louder and louder, clearer and clearer
they ring. The happy chimes fill all the air.
Somebody strokes her hair with a caressing
touch, a voice whispers, “Good old Kitsy;
good old Kitsy!”
Kitty looks up. It is her guardian child
who is bending over her; with Johnnie’s eyes
he looks at her; he is smiling; his wings
sparkle; his rainbow dress is like woven fire;
his hair shines like a tiny sun about his head.
“You have been out on Christmas Eve,” he
whispers; “the night when all the goblins are
abroad, when the good and evil spirits walk the
earth. But it is the night when love is strongest,
and keeps those safe who are true. Look! look!
the night has passed; the holy morning has
dawned, and you are home.”
“Home!” cries Kitty, starting to her feet.
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
Yes, the familiar scene is still there—the old
street, the dear red-roofed home, the window
with the curtains drawn across it. The fog
dims the scene no longer. Love is unseen; but
the gate is standing open, wide open, and a
great web of hoar-frost hangs on the latch.
For a moment Kitty remains stupidly gazing.
She cannot believe it. Then she runs past the
gate out into the road uttering a loud cry,
“Johnnie! Johnnie!”
Then again another cry, “Johnnie!”
It seems to her that a weak voice answers,
“Kitty! Kitty!”
Does that faint voice come out of the star?
Does it speak out of the sky to her?
Kitty looks up: her foot trips; she falls—not
to the ground, but down, down, down, and
still that voice tinkles in her ear, “Kitty!
Kitty!” Then
.tb
“Kitty! Kitty! Merry Christmas, Kitty!”
It was Johnnie’s voice.
A tiny face peeped down at her from white
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
wrappings and shawls, laughing at her as from
a hood of snow.
.if h
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.sp 2
[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
Yes, it was Johnnie—Johnnie wrapped up
like an Esquimaux; wrapped out of all shape;
a bundle of white wool in their mother’s
arms.
She, too, was smiling down upon her little
girl.
Kitty had fallen down, down, and while falling
had lost all sense of everything except that
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
voice, and now here she was back again in her
own bed as if nothing had happened. Oh!
what cannot Love do?
Kitty started up, and before she could say a
word Johnnie was put into her arms, tucked
up into the bed beside her, and their mother
told her that Johnnie had slept through the
night, and that he had turned the bad corner
of his illness. “He begged so hard to be
allowed to wake you up by calling out ‘Merry
Christmas,’ I could not refuse him,” continued
the mother, shedding tears of gladness. “Christmas
Day has brought a blessing.”
“Happy Christmas to everybody!” said
their father, now putting his head into the
room. He looked as if he would like to say
something that would make everybody laugh.
But instead of that he paused and said instead,
in a very husky voice, “God bless little Johnnie!”
“That’s what I say,” cried nurse, whisking
a tear away with the corner of her apron. “I
thought it was going to be the most miserable
Christmas Day that ever was, but Johnnie getting
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
better makes it as different—as different—as
if this was a Christmas-box come down to
this house from heaven.”
Just then who should begin to whistle but
the bullfinch? His cage was in a dark corner,
and at the sound of that unexpected note
Johnnie clapped his tiny hands and crowed
with delight. Kitty laughed and cried together.
And if the bullfinch did not mean, by bursting
into song at that moment, to say, “Happy
Christmas to all the world, and God bless little
Johnnie, and all the children in it!” I don’t
know what it meant, and I give up guessing.
.tb
“Oh, Johnnie!” said Kitty in a whisper,
when she was left alone with her little brother,
“something wonderful happened last night. It
is like a story.”
“Is it as wonderful as the story of the blue
rose?” asked Johnnie in another whisper.
“E-ver, e-ver so much more wonderful! And
it is true,” answered Kitty very low and with a
nod that conveyed a great deal more than her
words. “It was Christmas Eve. I went out,
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
and all the goblins and the elves were out. I
saw them and talked to them, but there was
Love also taking care of everybody who tried
to be good. It is the night when Love has
most power, and I saw my guardian child, and
my naughty self in the shape of a sprite, and—But
hush! some one is coming, and it is a
secret.”
.if h
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[Illustration]
.sp 2
.if-
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END
.nf-
.sp 2
.pb
\_ // this gets the sp 4 recognized.
.sp 2
.dv class=tnbox // TN box start
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.ul-
.ul-
.dv- // TN box end