The Adventures of Nicholas

by Helen Siiteri

  One morning, toward the end of winter, Marsden awoke and looked about the room in surprise.

  Nicholas had swept and scrubbed the floor, had taken down the dirty hangings from the windows, and was busily polishing the pots and pans with clean sand. The table was set in front of the fire and a shining copper kettle was bubbling on the hearth.

  Nicholas poured boiling water over the tea leaves, spread some bread with fresh, sweet butter, and said simply, “Your breakfast, Master.” From then on the cottage began to look less like a workshop and more like a home.

  One night, as Marsden sat in front of the fire silently smoking his long pipe, he saw that Nicholas was still bent over the workbench. “Here, lad,” he said almost kindly. “I’m not such a hard master that I make you work night as well as day. What’s that you’re doing?”

  Nicholas answered quickly. “It’s just a piece of wood you threw away, Master. I thought I’d see if I could copy that fine chair you’re making for the Squire’s son. It’s a…toy,” he explained fearfully.

  Instead of flying into his usual rage, Marsden said, “Here, let me see it.” With a few skillful turns of the knife, the old woodcarver finished the toy to perfection. Then instead of handing the little chair back to Nicholas, he held it in his hands with a sad expression on his worn and wrinkled face.

  “It’s a long time since I made one of these,” he murmured. “Yet I made plenty, years and years ago, when they were little.”

  “When who were little, Master?”

  Marsden’s eyes grew fierce and angry. “My sons,” he roared. “I had two sons, and when they were as big as you are, they left me. Ran away to sea. Left me all alone to grow old and crabbed.” The old man buried his face in his hands.

  Nicholas went over and placed his strong hands on the bent old shoulders. “I won’t leave you,” he whispered.

  Marsden lifted his head, “You’re a good lad, Nicholas. I think I’d like to help you with some of those little things you make. We’ll make them together these long winter evenings, eh Nicholas? And you won’t ever leave me alone, will you, lad?”

  The boy answered quietly, “No, Master. I’ll stay with you just as long as you want me.”

  So every evening the two heads bent over the workbench. With help from the master, the toys were more beautiful than they had ever been before. The dolls’ cheeks were as rosy as the little girls who would soon hold them in their arms. The little chairs and tables were stained the same soft colors as Marsden used on his own furniture, and the boats and sleighs were shiny with bright new paints.

  The night before Christmas everything was finished. A toy for each child in the village was packed in the sled with the steel runners. Yet Nicholas and the old man were still working at the bench. They were trying to finish a chest which had been ordered by a wealthy woman in the next village, twenty miles away.

  The chest had to be finished and delivered on Christmas Day. It was a wedding present, and the Christmas feast would also celebrate the wedding. Nicholas would have to borrow a horse and

  sleigh, and drive over with the chest early Christmas morning—the time he had planned to take the gifts to the children.

  “I’m sorry, Nicholas,” said old Marsden. “I’d go myself, but I’m not as strong as I used to be. It’s an all-day trip—twenty miles over, several hours to rest the horse, and twenty miles back. With the snow not crusted, it will be hard going.”

  “If only she didn’t want the chest on Christmas morning,” sighed Nicholas.

  “Well,” answered his master, “we did promise it and it has to be delivered. Now the toys weren’t promised—”

  “No, but I’ve always given them,” interrupted Nicholas.

  “I was just going to say, lad, that they weren’t promised for Christmas Day. Now, you know that little children go to bed early. Why can’t you.”

  “Of course!” cried Nicholas. “I can deliver the gifts tonight, after the children have gone to bed. Why, Master, that’s a wonderful idea!”

  The old man and the boy rushed around and finally got the sled out in the yard. Nicholas bundled himself up and was off through the snow, dragging the toy-laden sled behind him.

  Down in the village, a bright winter moon was shining on snow that glistened on rooftops and around the doorways. Not a soul stirred in the streets but one young boy, going from door to door, leaving a pile of little toys every place he stopped, until there was nothing left on the sled.

  It was Christmas Eve, and Nicholas had once more kept his promise to the children.

  There was a funny object seen dangling outside the door.

  THE FIRST CHRISTMAS STOCKING

  HE old woodcarver cheerfully taught Nicholas all that he knew of his difficult trade. The years went by busily and happily, and for Bertran Marsden they were the happiest of his life. When old age finally overcame him and he passed away peacefully in his sleep, the old woodcarver gratefully left his cottage, his tools, and his thriving business to Nicholas, whom he loved as his own son. As Nicholas himself grew older, the sound of children’s voices grew dearer and dearer to him. He arranged his work so that he spent only part of his time on the orders he received; the rest of the day and most of the evenings he worked on toys for the next Christmas. One Christmas Eve he was surprised to find that the children had hung on their doors little embroidered bags filled with

  oats for his horse. After that, instead of leaving the toys piled up in the doorway, he put them in the little bags. He now had a long list of children to remember, for he made a point of noticing which families had new babies and of finding out about newcomers who came to the village.

  So it was that he knew all about Jon and Peter. Their mother and father were even poorer than most of the other families. The father had been strong and able before his boat was smashed in a storm and he was so badly injured that he had to lie in bed or be propped up in a chair in the cottage.

  The neighbors gave the family as much as they could spare, and the mother worked whenever she was needed in the Squire’s house on the hill. But there were many days when the children had only a bowl of thin porridge to eat, and the mother and father went without anything at all.

  Jon was now the man of the family, although he was only eight years old. He built the fire, shoveled snow from the cottage doorway, and took care of his little brother while his mother was out working. One of his chores was going into the forest and helping the woodcutter, a kind man, who paid him with enough wood to keep the family from freezing during the long bitter winter.

  One cold winter afternoon, as Jon was returning from the forest with his sled piled high with wood, he met a group of boys who were building a snow fort close by Nicholas’ cottage.

  “Jon!” called out one of the boys, “want to be on our side?”

  “I guess not,” he answered, “I have to get this wood home before dark.”

  “We’ll help you with your sled if you stay a while,” the boys promised.

  Jon hesitated, then dropped the rope to his sled and joined the group. It was a long time since he had played in the snow, and he braved the icy sting of the snowballs and finally climbed the slippery walls of the fort, pelting snowballs down on those trying to defend it.

  Suddenly a glad shout rose from both sides as Nicholas appeared, his blue eyes twinkling at the sight of everyone having such a good time.

  “Help us, Nicholas,” pleaded the boys who were trying to take the fort.

  Nicholas quickly gathered up a handful of snow, packing and shaping it in his hands, and taking aim at the tallest boy, knocked his hat clean off. The boys rushed forward, and with Nicholas shouting them on, they captured the fort!

  Jon looked at the tall man shyly. Of course he knew who Nicholas was; he had heard about the woodcarver ever since they had moved into the village last summer.

  As the group started to break
up and the boys gathered around Jon’s heavy sled, Nicholas looked down and smiled. “Is this a new boy in the village?”

  “Yes, his name is Jon and he has a little brother, Peter…and his father is paralyzed and can’t work,” a young boy called out. Jon’s face turned white, and with a desperate tug at the heavy sled he hurried down the snowy path.

  One of the older boys cried, “Now you’ve done it! You’ve hurt his feelings by talking out like

  that. I’m going after him…”

  They ran after Jon, leaving Nicholas smiling with sympathy and understanding.

  When the boys caught up with Jon, they tried to make him forget the thoughtless remark by talking about the man they had just left. “Every Christmas since I can remember,” one boy began, “Nicholas has left gifts at every door in the village.”

  “Not every door,” corrected another. “He only leaves toys at the doors where he sees an embroidered bag. We put oats in it for his horse, and it shows Nicholas that children live there.”

  How jolly and kind Nicholas had looked, Jon thought. It would be wonderful for his little brother Peter to have a gift on Christmas Day. He didn’t care about himself, but for Peter’s sake he must do his best to try to find a bag.

  That night Jon spoke to his mother. “Do you suppose we have a bag in the house?” he asked.

  “What kind of bag, child?” she asked in surprise.

  “Well, it should be an embroidered bag, but I guess any kind would be all right. You hang it outside the door on Christmas Eve, and Nicholas the woodcarver knows there’s a child inside and leaves a toy.”

  The tired mother sighed. “Things like potatoes and flour come in bags, child, and those are things we haven’t seen for many days. It sounds like nonsense, anyway. I’ve never heard of anyone who gave away toys to poor children, and I’m sure this Nicholas doesn’t either.”

  But Jon was not able to forget about Nicholas. He thought of how happy and excited his friends in the village sounded when they talked about the woodcarver. Nicholas wouldn’t pass by a child’s house just because he was poor—not if he saw a bag hanging outside.

  By Christmas Eve, however, Jon had just about given up hope. There was no way of finding or even making a bag in time. As he made a neat pile of little Peter’s clothing, he picked up a long, woolen stocking and said jokingly, “Now this could hold a gift just as well as any old embroidered bag…”

  “Jon!” little Peter cried. “Why are you staring at my stocking? What are you going to do with it?”

  “Do with it?” Jon shouted. “I’m going to hang it outside the door!”

  Much later that evening, Nicholas, laughing silently and chuckling to himself, filled the stocking right up to the top with enough toys to make two little boys very happy. The next morning, young Peter, reaching down into the toe, found five large pieces of gold, enough to keep the whole family comfortable through the winter. The mother’s eyes were bright with happy tears, and the father almost sat up in excitement.

  But it was Jon who hugged close to his heart the very first Christmas stocking.

  “I’m not as fat as I might be.”

  HIS FIRST RED SUIT

  QUIRE Kenson, the richest man in the village, came driving up to Nicholas’ cottage one day with an order to carve a new chest for his youngest daughter, who was planning to be married. Nicholas heard the sound of silver bells and reindeer hoofs on the snow, and when he opened his cottage door he saw a shiny red sleigh drawn by two beautiful reindeer. They were called Donder and Blitzen—thunder and lightning—because they traveled so swiftly.

  While Nicholas was listening to the Squire’s directions about the size of the chest, he was secretly admiring the fine suit of red deerskin his visitor was wearing. As he made a note of the instructions, he missed no detail of the Squire’s outfit: the short coat belted at the waist, and the trousers tucked into shiny boots. Soft white ermine trimmed the collar, cuffs, and the bottom edge of the coat. A warm red hat, also trimmed with the expensive fur, fitted closely over his ears.

  Long after the Squire had driven off behind the flying hoofs of Donder and Blitzen, Nicholas’ thoughts were still on the beautiful red suit. “There’s no reason why I can’t have one too,” he thought to himself. “I have all my winter supplies, and the wood for the shop is paid for. And there is still a bag of gold coins left over that I will never be able to spend. The Widow Aspen can make good use of the coins. They say she is very clever with a needle. I think I’ll drive over there and see what can be done. I’ve gone around looking like a poor orphan, instead of a prosperous woodcarver, long enough.”

  So Nicholas hitched up his old horse, who was getting slower and slower as the years went by, and paid a visit to the Widow Aspen.

  “I want a fine red suit,” he explained. “You know the one the Squire wears?” The woman nodded. “Well, I can’t afford to have all that deerskin dressed and prepared, and I know very well I can’t have mine trimmed with real ermine. Now what could you suggest?”

  The widow thought a moment. “Well, we could get a good piece of homespun from the weaver, and I could dye it myself. I have a wonderful red dye made from boiling the red rowanberries. And I’m sure we could find enough white rabbit skins to trim the coat. It would make a fine suit, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas took a handful of gold coins out of his pocket and laid them on the table. “There,” he said, “I think that will be enough to take care of the material and labor.”

  “But…but Nicholas, it’s more than enough,” the widow gasped. “Why half of this would keep my family all through the winter.”

  “Then keep it,” Nicholas answered gently. “You’ve had a hard time, since your good husband died, to keep your little family warm and well fed. I have enough to spare, so let’s not quibble over a few gold coins. I’ll not be the man to die with a fortune hidden under his mattress.”

  The widow stood at the door and watched Nicholas drive away through the snow. “There’s a fine man,” she murmured, letting the gold pieces jingle through her fingers. “A fine big man.”

  So she bought the homespun and dyed the cloth a beautiful bright red.

  And then a strange thing happened. Nicholas could spare no time from his work to have a fitting, so the widow cut and sewed the suit with the thought of a fine big man guiding her hand. Nicholas was not a short man by any means, but he was rather thin, and yet as Mistress Aspen pieced the suit together she knew she was sewing for a big, generous man, and she made the suit to fit Nicholas’ heart instead of his body.

  When at last the suit was ready, Nicholas arrived to try it on. The widow gave one look and burst into tears. “Oh, Nicholas, I’ve spoiled it, I’ve spoiled it! I thought you were bigger. Whatever made me cut it so wide? Whatever shall I do?”

  Trying to comfort the woman, Nicholas forgot his own disappointment. “There, we won’t worry about it. It’s only that I’m not as fat as I might be. Why, if I ate all the food that the villagers send me, I’d fill out this coat in no time. The trousers will be all right as soon as I buy a pair of boots to stuff them in. And what a fine cap this is! See how close it fits? Why, the whole outfit will keep me warm and comfortable!”

  To show her that he was pleased with the suit, he insisted on wearing it home and sat up high on the seat of his sleigh, ignoring the stares and giggles of the villagers.

  When he arrived home, however, he sat down in the huge suit and burst out laughing. “What a sight I’ll make going around like this. Yet I’ll have to wear it out, it wouldn’t be right to waste good material. There’s only one thing to be done. I’m too thin for my height, so I’ll just have to eat more meat and potatoes, and drink more milk.”

  So Nicholas kept his big red suit and paid more attention to his meals. His face became full and rosy, his chest filled out, his arms and legs grew more muscular, and he even began to develop—whisper it—a ro
und little belly!

  “I shall really have to eat oatmeal in the morning.”

  Everyone ran about in a frenzy

  DONDER AND BLITZEN

  NE Christmas Eve, Nicholas found to his dismay that the children had followed Peter’s example of putting out a woolen stocking. Some families had five or more children, and there was often a row of stockings nailed up on the door. Nicholas couldn’t very well put in just one toy—the stockings looked so flat and empty. But by giving each child several, Nicholas soon found he was all out of toys, and only halfway through his list!

  “Lucky I have that extra supply at home in the chest,” he said to himself as he made a flying trip back to the cottage. He loaded up his sleigh again and started out once more, with the night half gone and the list still not completed.

  Poor old Gunnar, his horse, tried his best, but he could not make much headway through the heavy snow. He kept turning a weary head around to Nicholas, who urged him on. “Come on now, Gunnar, only two more houses. You can make it; the sleigh is not so heavy now.” Gunnar bravely dug in, trying to budge the clumsy old sleigh, but his worn-out old legs collapsed. Down he went, sending the sleigh into the nearest snowdrift. Nicholas climbed down, and after making sure that Gunnar had no broken bones, he shook his head. “Looks as though we’ll have to get a new sleigh, and I’m afraid your traveling days are over, too.”

  For many days after that the villagers noticed that Nicholas was not working at his bench. Instead, they could hear sounds of hammering and sawing from the large shed where he built furniture and other big pieces.

  Spring came, and Nicholas was back at his workbench. When Otto, his old friend, came to ask what he had worked on so secretly all winter, Nicholas only shook his head.