Part 9

In all their lives the little girls had never beheld such a wonderful person, for the Princess wore a long red coat and a black velvet hat with a waving plume, and her muff was big and round and soft, and she had a scarf of the same soft fur about her neck. Her hair was pale gold, and she had the bluest eyes and the reddest lips, and her smile was so sweet and tender, that Jenny ran right up to her and cried: “Oh, I am so glad you came!”

Jinny, from her little chair, echoed her sister’s words. But she did not run, for there was a tiny crutch beside Jinny’s chair in the square window.

“And I am glad to be here,” said the Princess, whose quick eyes were taking in the details of the shabby room. “It’s so nice and warm and cozy.”

“Isn’t it?” said Jenny, happily, “and we are getting ready for to-morrow.”

On a small round table beside Jinny’s chair was a tiny cedar bush, and Jinny’s fingers had been busy with bits of gold and blue and scarlet paper.

“We are going to pop some popcorn,” Jenny explained, “and string it, and hang it on the tree.”

“Oh, may I help?” the Princess asked. “I haven’t popped any corn since I was a little girl.”

Jinny clasped her thin little hands. “I think it would be the loveliest thing in the world,” she said, “if you would stay.”

“Peter is going to find some one to help with the carriage, and I will stay until he comes back.”

And when Peter had gone, the Princess slipped off the long red coat, and underneath it she wore a shining silken gown and around her neck was a collar of pearls.

“And now, if you could lend me an apron,” she said, “we will pop the corn.”

But Jinny and Jenny were gazing at her speechless.

“Oh, you must be a fairy Princess,” gasped little Jinny at last.

The beautiful lady laughed joyously. “Peter calls me the Princess,” she said; “he has lived with me ever since I was a little girl. But really I am just an every-day young woman, who is going to spend Christmas with some friends in the next town.”

She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.

“And now to our popcorn,” she said.

Jenny brought a green gingham apron, and the Princess tied it on, making a big butterfly bow of the strings in the back, and then she danced over to the dumpy little stove and peeped into the bubbling pot.

“Did you ever smell anything so good?” she asked. “I am as hungry as hungry.”

The little girls laughed joyously. “It’s bean soup,” Jenny said, “and we are going to have it for supper with some little dumplings in it. I was afraid it wasn’t nice enough for you.”

“Nice enough?” the delightful lady demanded. “I think bean soup and little dumplings are--um--um!” and she flung out her hands expressively.

“I thought,” Jinny remarked quaintly, “that fairy princesses only ate honey and dew.”

“Which shows that I am not a true Princess,” said the beautiful lady, “for honey and dew would never satisfy me.”

Jenny got out three little blue bowls and set them on a table that was spread with a coarse but spotless cloth. There was a crusty loaf and clover-sweet butter, and last and best of all there was the bean soup and the bobbing little dumplings served together in an old mulberry tureen.

It was perfectly wonderful to see the Princess in her shining gown at the head of the table, and little lame Jinny said, “You were just sent to us for Christmas. Why, it’s just like

“The night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads--”

“But our stockings weren’t hung yet, and _we_ weren’t in bed!” said Jenny.

“It was too early for that,” said the Princess; “but let’s go on with the rhyme, just for fun. I see you know it all through, so you mustn’t mind my changing it a little:

“When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, Jenny sprang from her chair to see what was the matter. Away to the window she flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. When, what to her wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer--

“Oh, no, I forgot! I mean

“When what to her wondering eyes should appear But a carriage stuck in the mud, right out here-- And a little old driver, so lively and quick, You must have thought Peter was dear old St. Nick!”

The children laughed gleefully, and Jenny said: “We _would_ have thought that, only we aren’t going to hang up our stockings this Christmas at all. Jenny and I aren’t going to get any presents, for mother hasn’t been well, and she couldn’t get any sewing. But she said we could make our Christmas merry, and we were to pretend that we had been to the big stores in the city, and had bought things for the tree, and dolls and everything.”

“That’s a lovely way,” said the Princess gently, and she laid her flashing rings over Jinny’s thin one.

“And we are going to pretend,” Jenny contributed, “that our chicken is a turkey. But we won’t have to pretend about the mince pie, for mother has made a lovely one.”

“I wish I could help you eat the chicken,” said the Princess wistfully, “and I should like to meet your mother. I know she is home-y. And I haven’t any mother, you know.”

“Oh,” said the little girls, round-eyed with sympathy, and then the Princess told them that all her life she had lived in a big, lonely house, and she had always yearned for a cozy home and for a sister.

After supper they popped the corn, and just as they finished in came Peter.

“I can’t find any one to help, Miss,” he announced, “and it’s snowing. I’ll have to unhitch the horses and go back to town, and get something to take you over in.”

“No,” the Princess demurred, as she stood in the middle of the room with a heaped-up dish of snowy kernels in her hand. “No, Peter, I am going to stay here all night.”

Peter stared, and the little girls cried, “Oh, will you?”

And the Princess said, “I really will. And, Peter, you can bring up the steamer trunk and my bag.”

“Won’t your friends expect you, Miss?” Peter inquired, as if awaiting orders.

“I will send a note by you,” was the calm response, and as the man went out she followed him and shut the door behind her. “Oh, Peter, Peter,” she whispered confidentially, “I am going to give them such a Christmas!”

“The little girls, Miss?”

“Yes. They are so sweet and brave. And I have the presents in my trunk that I was going to carry to the other children. But they will have so much that they won’t miss them, and I shall spend my Christmas in a plain little house, but it will be a joyful house, Peter.”

“Yes, Miss,” Peter agreed, understandingly.

“I wish we had a big tree!” said the Princess, regretfully.

“Well, leave that to me, Miss,” Peter told her, eagerly; “you just get them little things to sleep early, and I’ll be here with a tree.”

“Oh, Peter, Peter Santa Claus!” exclaimed the Princess, gleefully, “it will be the nicest Christmas that I have had since I was a wee bit of a girl.”

So Peter went away, and the Princess, with her eyes shining like stars, danced back into the room and said, “Oh, let’s play ‘Mariners.’”

Jinny and Jenny had never heard of such a game, but the Princess told them that she was a ship on the high seas, and they were to tell from her cargo what country she hailed from.

“I carry tea,” she began; “where do I hail from?”

“China,” guessed Jenny.

“No.”

“Japan,” cried Jinny, with her little face glowing.

“No.”

Then the little girls pondered. “It might be India,” ventured Jenny, but the Princess shook her head. Then Jinny cried: “It’s Ceylon!” and that was right.

And after that Jinny brought a cargo of oranges from Florida and Jenny brought a cargo of rugs from Persia, and there were cargoes of spices and of coal and of coffee and of fish and of grain and of lumber, and the Princess finished triumphantly by carrying a cargo of oysters from the Chesapeake Bay.

“One more,” begged Jinny.

“I carry a cargo of castles,” said the sparkling Princess; “where do I hail from?”

The little girls guessed and guessed, and at last the Princess said:

“That wasn’t a fair one, really, for my castles are castles in Spain.”

Then, with Jinny in her arms, she told them of her own castle-building, and when she had finished, she said: “And so your mother shall have all of my sewing, and that will keep her busy until Spring.”

“Oh, you are going to be married, and live happy ever after,” sighed Jinny, rapturously; “it’s just what a fairy Princess should do.”

“And what you should do,” said the Princess, looking at the clock, “is to go to bed, bed, bed, so that you can wake up early in the morning.”

She tucked them in, and came back later in a fascinating pink kimono with her hair in a thick yellow braid, and she kissed them both. But it was little lame Jinny that she kissed last. And then she went away, like a glorious vision, and the little girls sank into slumber.

In the next room the Princess opened the door cautiously, and there was Peter with snow all over him, and his arms were full of holly and mistletoe, and a great tree was propped against the door-post.

“Quietly, quietly, Peter,” warned the Princess. And Peter tiptoed in and set the tree up in the corner, and its top reached to the ceiling.

The Princess opened the steamer trunk and took out two white Teddy-bears, one with a flaring blue bow and the other with a flaring pink one, and then she took out a green and yellow and a red and a blue fairy book, and a beautiful square basket of candy, tied with holly ribbon, and then from the very bottom of the trunk she drew string after string of shining little silver bells, fastened on red and pale green ribbons.

“I was going to get up a cotillion figure for the children at the other house,” the Princess explained to Peter, “but these little folks need it so much more.”

The little bells went “tinkle, tinkle,” as Peter hung them, and Jinny, dreaming in her little bed, heard the sound and thought it a part of her dream.

And while Peter and the Princess trimmed and whispered and laughed, some one rattled the doorknob.

Peter opened the door, and there stood a white-faced, shivering little woman.

“Oh, what has happened to my little girls,” she panted. “I saw the light and it is so late--” then as she beheld the golden-haired vision in pink, and the gay tree, and Peter in his trim livery, she gasped, “Why, I believe it is fairies--” and she sat down very suddenly in Jinny’s chair.

“You are the little mother,” said the Princess, and she knelt beside her, and put her arms around her, and told her how she came to be there; and when she had finished, she said, simply, “and I have wanted my own mother so much this Christmas, and the little girls were so sweet, that I knew I should love you.”

“You poor little thing,” cried the little mother to the tall Princess; and the beautiful lady put her head down on the other’s shabby shoulder and wept, because in spite of her riches she had been very, very lonely in her big house.

And after Peter had gone, they talked until midnight of Jinny and Jenny; and then they concocted great plans about the pretty things that the little mother was to make for the Princess.

And in the morning, Jinny and Jenny, waking in the early dawn, saw, sitting on the foot-board of the bed, two Teddy-bears, one with a flaring pink bow and one with a flaring blue bow, and the Teddy-bears held out their arms saucily and gazed at the happy little girls with twinkling eyes.

“Oo-oh,” cried the little girls, who had never seen a Teddy-bear before; and that was the beginning of the most wonderful day of their lives, for all day the tree went “tinkle, tinkle” as they foraged in its branches for bon-bons, and the chicken dinner was a delicious success, and in the afternoon they all took a ride in the Princess’ sleigh, with Peter driving on the box, and when at last he set them down on their own humble door-step, and lifted little Jinny in his arms, the Princess smiled at them radiantly from under her plumy hat.

“Remember, Peter will come for you every Saturday, and you are to stay at my house all day,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Jenny sighed with rapture.

“And you are to come to my wedding in the spring--all of you!” said the Princess, gaily.

“And see the Prince!” said Jinny, over Peter’s shoulder.

“And you are going to let me share a third of your mother?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” from both of the little girls.

“Then you shall share a third of Peter,” the Princess called back, as the smiling coachman drove her away through the glistening snow.

[12] Reprinted by permission of the author and “St. Nicholas Magazine.”

DAME QUIMP’S QUEST[13]

_Ellen Manly_

Farmer Jones was standing at his front gate one bright December morning when a quaint figure came hurrying along the road--a bent old woman in a long blue cloak, with the ruffles of a big cap flopping about her wrinkled face.

“Good day!” said she, as soon as she was near enough to be heard. “You’re Farmer Jones, I believe. I think you will do nicely to head the procession--just step right behind me and we’ll move on!”

“And, pray, who are you and what should I be doing in a procession?” cried the astonished man. “I’m quite too busy to leave home to-day!”

“Never mind!” answered the old crone, “I know all about _you_, for I’ve heard you grumbling over the weather many a time. As I came down the hill just now you were complaining at the cold and wishing it were June--you’re a regular ‘weather fretter!’ I’m the Grumble Collector, and you’d better do just as you’re told or there’ll be trouble. My name is Dame Quimp, and my work is to hunt up grumblers and bring them to my old friend Santa Claus before Christmas. If there’s anything he hates, it is grumbling, and he says he is going to teach some folks a lesson this year.

“It’s no use to say a word--just follow me, and be quick about it, too!” So off started Dame Quimp with Farmer Jones behind her, grumbling as he went.

She soon stopped short before a little house by the roadside and listened a moment. There was a sound of violent stamping, and an angry voice cried out: “I hate that old dress and I won’t wear the ugly thing! I never have any pretty clothes!” and out on the porch rushed the milliner’s little daughter, in a fine temper.

“Hoity-toity!” cried the dame. “You’re a pleasant little girl, to be sure! Just the one I’m looking for! Never mind asking ‘Why?’ but stop scolding at once and fall in line behind Farmer Jones.”

The child looked crosser than ever and began to cry, but she couldn’t help herself, and away went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, and the milliner’s little daughter.

As they neared the first corner, loud voices were heard and angry tones, and there stood the baker’s boy and the grocer’s clerk having a hot discussion. “It’s too far!” cried the first. “I can’t tramp way over on the hill for _anybody_! I hate to be sent on errands from morning till night from one end of town to the other!”

“So do I!” exclaimed the grocer’s clerk. “I’m always being told to take something somewhere for somebody just when I want a little time to myself. The skating’s fine to-day and I ought to get off early, but I shan’t be allowed to. It’s a shame to have to carry bundles instead of being on the pond!”

“Very well, young men!” cried Dame Quimp, “you shall have a nice long walk. I’m very pleased to meet you! Just step next in line to the little girl and we’ll hurry along! No questions, please!”

So off went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, and the grocer’s clerk.

As they passed the doctor’s house, the cook, in her apron and cap, was standing at the gate grumbling to the ice-man. “Shure an’ ’tis nothin’ but cook, cook, cook, all day long, an’ meals havin’ to be kept hot fer a man that’s niver in the house when he ought to be! I’m that tired of wurruk that I’ve a foine mind to tell him he may cook fer himself fer a while!”

“All right, Bridget!” called Dame Quimp, sharply. “You step off right now! Just take your place next to the grocer’s clerk and we’ll move on!” And away again went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, and the doctor’s cook.

Pretty soon they came to little Tommy Brooks’s house, and there was Tommy at the front door fussing with his mother. “I don’t need any overcoat!” cried he, “and I can’t wear rubbers,--they hurt my feet,--and I left my mittens at school! I hate to be bundled up just like a girl, anyway, and I wish people would let little boys alone!”

“Thomas Brooks!” called out the dame, severely, “you put on that overcoat and those rubbers at once and get behind the doctor’s cook--you’re the boy for me! Step lively, now, all of you!” And off started Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, and little Tommy Brooks.

A little farther up the street the shoemaker’s wife was grumbling to a neighbor, as she shook out her duster on the porch. “I’ve no patience with housekeeping!” declared the sharp voice. “I don’t do anything but chase dirt from morning till night, and yet the place is never clean--and my work is never done. Yes, it _is_ a comfortable and pretty house, but I’m tired of the sight of it! I have to go and sweep the dining-room this very minute!”

“Oh no! not at all!” cried Dame Quimp. “That nice home of yours won’t get any more cleaning _this_ day! You can fall right in line behind Tommy Brooks, and no remarks, if you please!”

So off they went again--Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, and the shoemaker’s wife.

At the turn of the road there was the sound of excited talking and high words, and there stood the minister’s twin grandchildren quarreling over a sled and a pair of skates.

“I don’t want the old sled!” cried the boy. “I do nothing but give you rides on it! You can just let me have the skates, and drag the sled, yourself, for a while!”

“Take the old skates!” answered the little girl, angrily. “I can’t stand up on them, anyway, and I’m tired of trying, and I don’t want the sled, either. I wish people would give us some _nice_ presents. What’s the use of being twins if you can’t have a good time?”

“Sure enough!” cried Dame Quimp. “Two nice little children who can’t be happy with a fine sled and a pair of new skates--I never heard of such a thing! Come right here and take places behind the shoemaker’s wife; and don’t cry about it, either, for there’s no time to lose!” And away hurried Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, and the minister’s twin grandchildren.

Before long they came to the beautiful big house where the banker lived, and there, just coming out of the gate, they met the governess, looking much distressed and almost in tears. “What can I do for you, my dear?” asked Dame Quimp, anxiously; “you seem to be in trouble. I’m the Grumble Collector, and perhaps I can help you.”

“Indeed you can,” said the governess, eagerly, “if you will only tell me what to do with the banker’s Dorothy. She has everything in the world to please and amuse her, and yet she’s always in a fret. As for clothes, she has so many pretty things that she can’t tell which she wants to wear. I ran away just now because I was quite worn out with her grumbling. I left her fussing over a pink, a blue, and a green frock, trying to decide which to put on, and in such a temper that she couldn’t look nice in anything.”

“I see! I see!” replied the dame; “a very bad case indeed! Just bring her to me at once and she shall report to Santa Claus-- Ah, here she is! Come right along, Dorothy; you’re just the kind of little girl needed in this procession! Stop fretting, directly, and step in line behind the minister’s twin grandchildren and we’ll move on!”

And away again went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, and the banker’s Dorothy.

“Let me see,” said the dame, as they reached the end of the street; “I think I have heard that the barber’s grandmother was a terrible grumbler--I might try to find out.” So at a little house at the corner they all waited while she knocked vigorously at the door. It was opened quickly by a sharp-looking little old woman who held on her arm a big basket of mending.

“What do you want!” she said crossly. “I haven’t time to say a word to anybody, so I can’t ask you in. I’m just as fretted as I can be with all this mending to do! I do think that after darning socks for nearly fifty years I might be allowed to hold my hands for a bit; but every week here’s this great basket full and nobody but me to attend to it. It makes me so cross that I grumble over every pair of the old socks--I wish they were in Guinea!”

“Tut! Tut!” replied Dame Quimp, sternly. “I don’t know much about Guinea, but I do know where _you’re_ going! You’re the very one to finish my collection. Set down that basket at once and put on a warm cloak and hood and follow the banker’s Dorothy, and we’ll go straight to Santa Claus--he’ll be quite horrified to see such a string of grumblers!”