Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark – a lark that had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross – and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and boxes of stationery…
“You needn’t go over it all, papa, I guess I can remember just what was there,” said the little girl.
Well, and there was the Christmas tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry.
“I don’t see how I’m to dispose of all these things,” said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamt it. This struck the little girl as the best kind joke, and so she ate so much candy she didn’t want breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out sledging, and came in with a…
“Papa!”
“Well, what now?”
“What did you promise, you forgetful thing?”
“Oh! Oh yes!”
Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser, and at the end of a week’s time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere, they perfectly strewed the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else’s, and it made the most dreadful mix.
The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself. She wanted to tell her mother, but she didn’t dare to, and she was ashamed to ask the fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St Valentine’s Day and Washington’s birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn’t skip even the first of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some little relief.
After a while turkeys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece and they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys – half-grown humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights – the real turkeys were so scarce. And cranberries – well, they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas trees, and where the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas trees out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls, but there were plenty of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn’t get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poorhouse, except the confectioners, and the shopkeepers, and the picture-book sellers, and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!
Well, after it had gone on for about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fireplace, and the disgusting presents around everywhere, used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was perfectly exhausted. She couldn’t even cry anymore – she just lay on the lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them she hated the sight of them so, and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed her presents across the room.
By that time people didn’t carry presents around nicely any more. They flung them over the fence, or through the window, or anything, and, they used to write in the gift books, ‘Take it, you horrid old thing!, and then go and bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but very soon the barns overflowed, and then people just let their presents lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.
Well, before Thanksgiving came it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep, and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn’t have happened, and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they would see about the gratitude. Wasn’t it dreadful?
And the very next day the little girl began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it didn’t do any good. And then she got to calling at the fairy’s house, but the girl that came to the door always said, ‘Not at home’, or ‘Engaged’, or ‘At dinner’, or something like that.
And so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve. The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning…
“She found it was all nothing but a dream,” suggested the little girl.
“No, indeed!” said her papa. “It was every bit true!”
“Well, what did she find out, then?”
“Why, that it wasn’t Christmas at last, and wasn’t ever going to be, any more. Now it’s time for breakfast.”
The little girl held her papa fast around the neck.
“You shan’t go if you’re going to leave it so!”
“How do you want it left?”
“Christmas once a year.”
“All right,” said her papa, and he went on again…
Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river, and it made the fish perfectly sick, and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift books and presents of all kinds. They had the best time!
The little girl went to thank the fairy because she had stopped it being Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that Christmas never came again. Then the fairy frowned, and asked her if she was sure she knew what she meant. The little girl asked her, “Why?” and the fairy said that now she was behaving as greedily as ever, so she’d better look out.
This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years, and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one. Then the fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed.
Then the little girl said, “What’re your shoes made of ?” And the fairy said, “Leather.” And the little girl said, “Bargain’s done forever,” and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.
“How will that do?” asked the papa.
“First-rate!” said the little girl, but she hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her papa:
“Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?”
“Oh, just a moral tale.”
The little girl caught him around the neck again. “We know! Don’t you tell what, papa! Don’t you tell what!”
Under the Sun
By Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing
READING TIME: 6 MINUTES
There once lived a farmer who was so greedy and miserly, and so hard in all his dealings that, as folks say, he would skin a flint. It is needless to say that he never either gave or lent.
Now, by thus scraping, and saving, and grinding for many years, he had become almost wealthy, though, indeed, he was no better fed and dressed than if he had not a penny to bless himself with. But wha
t vexed him sorely was that his next neighbour’s farm prospered in all matters better than his own, and this, although the owner was as generous as our farmer was stingy.
Now on the lands of the liberal farmer (whose name was Merryweather) there lived a fairy or hillman, who made a wager that he would both beg and borrow of the envious farmer, and out-bargain him as well. So he went one day to his house, and asked him if he would kindly give him half a stone of flour to make hasty pudding with, adding, that if he would lend him a bag to carry it into the hill, this should be returned clean and in good condition.
The farmer saw with half an eye that this was the fairy from his neighbour’s estate, and as he had always laid the luck of the liberal farmer to his being favoured by the good people, he resolved to treat the little man with all politeness.
“Look you, wife,” said he, “this is no time to be saving half a stone of flour when we may make our fortunes at one stroke. I have heard my grandfather tell of a man who lent a sack of oats to one of the fairies, and got it back filled with gold pieces. And as good measure as he gave of oats so he got of gold.” Saying which, the farmer took a canvas bag to the flour bin, and began to fill it.
Meanwhile the fairy sat in the larder window and cried, “Give us good measure, neighbour, and you shall have anything under the sun that you like to ask for.”
When the farmer heard this he was nearly out of his wits with delight, and his hands shook so that the flour spilled all about the larder floor.
“Thank you, dear sir,” he said, “It’s a bargain, and I agree to it. My wife hears us, and is witness. Wife! Wife!” he cried, running into the kitchen, “I am to have anything under the sun that I choose to ask for. I think of asking for neighbour Merryweather’s estate, but this is a chance never likely to happen again, and I should like to make a wise choice.”
“You will have a week to think it over in,” said the fairy, who had come in behind him. “I must be off now, so give me my flour, and come to the hill behind your house seven days hence at midnight.”
“Not for seven days, did you say, sir? You know, dear sir, when amongst each other we men have to wait for the settlement of an account, we expect something over and above the exact amount. Interest we call it, my dear sir.”
“And you want me to give you something extra for waiting a week?” asked the fairy. “What do you expect?”
“Oh, dear sir, I leave it to you,” said the farmer.
“I will give you something over and above what you shall choose,” said the fairy, “but, as you say, I shall decide what it is to be.” With which he shouldered the flour-sack, and went his way.
For the next seven days, the farmer had no peace for thinking and scheming how to get the most out of his one wish. His wife made many suggestions to which he did not agree, but he was careful not to quarrel with her, “For,” he said, “we will not be like the foolish couple who wasted three wishes on black puddings.”
And so, after a week of sleepless nights and anxious days, he came back to his first thought, and resolved to ask for his neighbour’s estate.
At last the night came. It was full moon, and the farmer looked anxiously about, fearing the fairy might not be true to his appointment. But at midnight he appeared, with the flour bag neatly folded in his hand.
“You hold to the agreement,” said the farmer, “of course. I am to have anything under the sun that I ask for, and I am to have it now.”
“Ask away,” said the fairy.
“I want neighbour Merryweather’s estate,” said the farmer.
“What, all this land below here, that joins on to your own?”
“Every acre,” said the farmer.
“Farmer Merryweather’s fields are under the moon at present,” said the fairy, coolly, “and thus not within the terms of the agreement. You must choose again.”
But the farmer could choose nothing that was not then under the moon. He soon saw that he had been outwitted, and his rage knew no bounds at the trick the fairy had played him.
“Give me my bag, at any rate,” he screamed, “and the string – and your own extra gift that you promised. For half a loaf is better than no bread,” he muttered, “and I may yet come in for a few gold pieces.”
“There’s your bag,” cried the fairy, clapping it over the miser’s head like an extinguisher, “it’s clean enough for a nightcap. And there’s your string,” he added, tying it tightly round the farmer’s throat. “And, for my part, I’ll give you what you deserve.” Saying which he gave the farmer such a hearty kick that he kicked him straight down from the top of the hill to his own back door.
“If that does not satisfy you, I’ll give you as much again,” shouted the fairy, and as the farmer made no reply, he went chuckling back to his hill.
The Magic Pitcher
By S M Mitra
READING TIME: 20 MINUTES
Long ago there lived far away in India a woodcutter called Subha Datta and his family, who were all very happy together. The father went every day to the forest near his home to get supplies of wood, which he sold to his neighbours, earning by that means quite enough to give his wife and children all that they needed. Sometimes he took his three boys with him, and now and then, as a special treat, his two little girls were allowed to trot along beside him. The boys longed to be allowed to chop wood for themselves, and their father told them that as soon as they were old enough he would give each of them a little axe of his own. The girls, he said, must be content with breaking off small twigs from the branches he cut down, for he did not wish them to chop their own fingers off.
All went well with Subha Datta for a long time. Each of the boys had his own little axe at last, and each of the girls had a little pair of scissors to cut off twigs, and very proud they all were when they brought some wood home to their mother to use in the house.
One day, however, their father told them they could none of them come with him, for he meant to go a very long way into the forest, to see if he could find better wood there than nearer home. Vainly the boys entreated him to take them with him.
“Not today,” he said, “you would be too tired to go all the way, and would lose yourselves coming back alone. You must help your mother today and play with your sisters.” They had to be content, for although Hindu children are as fond of asking questions as English boys and girls, they are obedient to their parents and do all they are told without making any fuss.
When Subha Datta started for the forest, he fully intended to come back the same evening, but as he was busy cutting down a tree, he suddenly had a feeling that he was no longer alone. He looked up, and there, quite close to him, in a little clearing where the trees had been cut down by some other woodcutter, he saw four beautiful young girls looking like fairies in their thin summer dresses and with their long hair flowing down their backs, dancing round and round, holding each other’s hands. Subha Datta was so astonished at the sight that he let his axe fall, and the noise startled the dancers, who all four stood still and stared at him.
The woodcutter could not say a word, but just gazed and gazed at them, till one of them said to him:
“Who are you, and what are you doing in the very depths of the forest where we have never before seen a man?”
“I am only a poor woodcutter,” he replied, “come to get some wood to sell, so as to give my wife and children something to eat and some clothes to wear.”
“That is a stupid thing to do,” said one of the girls. “You can’t get much money that way. If you will only stop with us we will have your wife and children looked after for you much better than you can do it yourself.”
Subha Datta, though he certainly did love his wife and children, was so tempted at the idea of stopping in the forest with the beautiful girls that, after hesitating a little while, he said, “Yes, I will stop with you, if you are quite sure all will be well with my dear ones.”
“You need not be afraid about that,” said another of the girls. “We are fairies,
you see, and we can do all sorts of wonderful things. It isn’t even necessary for us to go where your dear ones are. We shall just wish them everything they want, and they will get it. And the first thing to be done is to give you some food. You must work for us in return, of course.”
Subha Datta at once replied, “I will do anything you wish.”
“Well, begin by sweeping away all the dead leaves from the clearing, and then we will all sit down and eat together.”
Subha Datta was very glad that what he was asked to do was so easy. He began by cutting a branch from a tree, and with it he swept the floor of what was to be the dining-room. Then he looked about for the food, but he could see nothing but a great big pitcher standing in the shade of a tree, the branches of which hung over the clearing. So he said to one of the fairies, “Will you show me where the food is, and exactly where you would like me to set it out?”
“We don’t have to bother about fetching this and fetching that. You see that big pitcher. Well, we get all our food and everything else we want out of it. We just have to wish as we put our hands in, and there it is. It’s a magic pitcher – the only one there is in the whole wide world. You get the food you would like to have first, and then we’ll tell you what we want.”
Subha Datta could hardly believe his ears when he heard that. Down he threw his axe, and hastened to put his hand in the pitcher, wishing for the food he was used to. He loved curried rice and milk, lentils, fruit and vegetables, and very soon he had a beautiful meal spread out for himself on the ground. Then the fairies called out, one after the other, what they wanted for food.
The next few days passed away like a dream, and at first Subha Datta thought he had never been so happy in his life. The fairies often went off together leaving him alone, only coming back to the clearing when they wanted something out of the pitcher. The woodcutter got all kinds of things he fancied for himself, but presently he began to wish he had his wife and children with him to share his wonderful meals. He began to miss them terribly, and he missed his work, too. It was no good cutting trees down and chopping up wood when all the food was ready cooked. Sometimes he thought he would slip off home when the fairies were away, but when he looked at the pitcher he could not bear the thought of leaving it.
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