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Page 33
* * * * *
"Splendid!" shouted Dot, who was serving up the glue as if it had been
a kettle of soup, and who looked herself very like an over-toasted
cook.
Sam took the glue, and began to bustle about.
"Now, Dot, get me all the broken toys, and we'll see what we can do.
And here's a second splendid idea. Do you see that box? Into that we
shall put all the toys that are quite spoiled and cannot possibly be
mended. It is to be called the Hospital for Incurables. I've got a
placard for that. At least it's not written yet, but here's the paper,
and perhaps you would write it, Dot, for I am tired of writing, and I
want to begin the mending."
"For the future," he presently resumed, "when I want a doll to scalp or
behead, I shall apply to the Hospital for Incurables, and the same with
any other toy that I want to destroy. And you will see, my dear Dot,
that I shall be quite a blessing to the nursery; for I shall attend the
dolls gratis, and keep all the furniture in repair."
Sam really kept his word. He had a natural turn for mechanical work,
and, backed by Dot's more methodical genius, he prolonged the days of
the broken toys by skilful mending, and so acquired an interest in them
which was still more favourable to their preservation. When his
birthday came round, which was some months after these events, Dot
(assisted by Mamma and Aunt Penelope) had prepared for him a surprise
that was more than equal to any of his own "splendid ideas." The whole
force of the toy cupboard was assembled on the nursery table, to
present Sam with a fine box of joiner's tools as a reward for his
services, Papa kindly acting as spokesman on the occasion.
And certain gaps in the china tea-set, some scars on the dolls' faces,
and a good many new legs, both amongst the furniture and the animals,
are now the only remaining traces of Sam's earthquake.
* * * * *
THREE CHRISTMAS TREES.
This is a story of Three Christmas Trees. The first was a real one, but
the child we are to speak of did not see it. He saw the other two, but
they were not real; they only existed in his fancy. The plot of the
story is very simple; and, as it has been described so early, it is
easy for those who think it stupid to lay the book down in good time.
Probably every child who reads this has seen one Christmas tree or
more; but in the small town of a distant colony with which we have to
do, this could not at one time have been said. Christmas-trees were
then by no means so universal, even in England, as they now are, and in
this little colonial town they were unknown. Unknown, that is, till the
Governor's wife gave her great children's party. At which point we will
begin the story.
The Governor had given a great many parties in his time. He had
entertained big wigs and little wigs, the passing military, and the
local grandees. Everybody who had the remotest claim to attention had
been attended to: the ladies had had their full share of balls and
pleasure parties: only one class of the population had any complaint to
prefer against his hospitality; but the class was a large one--it was
the children. However, he, was a bachelor, and knew little or nothing
about little boys and girls: let us pity rather than blame him. At last
he took to himself a wife; and among the many advantages of this
important step, was a due recognition of the claims of these young
citizens. It was towards happy Christmas-tide that "the Governor's
amiable and admired lady" (as she was styled in the local newspaper)
sent out notes for her first children's party. At the top of the
note-paper was a very red robin, who carried a blue Christmas greeting
in his mouth, and at the bottom--written with A.D.C.'s best
flourish--were the magic words, _A Christmas Tree_. In spite of the
flourishes--partly perhaps because of them--the A.D.C.'s handwriting,
though handsome, was rather illegible. But for all this, most of the
children invited contrived to read these words, and those who could not
do so were not slow to learn the news by hearsay. There was to be a
Christmas Tree! It would be like a birthday party, with this above
ordinary birthdays, that there were to be presents for every one. One
of the children invited lived in a little white house, with a spruce
fir-tree before the door. The spruce fir did this good service to the
little house, that it helped people to find their way to it; and it
was by no means easy for a stranger to find his way to any given house
in this little town, especially if the house were small and white, and
stood in one of the back streets. For most of the houses were small,
and most of them were painted white, and back streets ran parallel with
each other, and had no names, and were all so much alike that it was
very confusing. For instance, if you had asked the way to Mr.
So-and-So's, it is very probable that some friend would have directed
you as follows: "Go straight forward and take the first turning to your
left, and you will find that there are four streets, which run at right
angles to the one you are in, and parallel with each other. Each of
them has got a big pine in it--one of the old forest trees. Take the
last street but one, and the fifth white house you come to is Mr.
So-and-So's. He has green blinds and a coloured servant." You would not
always have got such clear directions as these, but with them you would
probably have found the house at last, partly by accident, partly by the
blinds and coloured servant. Some of the neighbours affirmed that the
little white house had a name; that all the houses and streets had names,
only they were traditional and not recorded anywhere; that very few
people knew them, and nobody made any use of them. The name of the little
white house was said to be Trafalgar Villa, which seemed so inappropriate
to the modest peaceful little home, that the man who lived in it tried to
find out why it had been so called. He thought that his predecessor must
have been in the navy, until he found that he had been the owner of what
is called a "dry-goods store," which seems to mean a shop where things
are sold which are not good to eat or drink--such as drapery. At last
somebody said, that as there was a public-house called the "Duke of
Wellington" at the corner of the street, there probably had been a nearer
one called "The Nelson," which had been burnt down, and that the man who
built "The Nelson" had built the house with the spruce fir before it,
and that so the name had arisen. An explanation which was just so far
probable, that public-houses and fires were of frequent occurrence in
those parts.
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