Lill's Travels in Santa Claus Land
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Ellis Towne; Sophie May and Ella Farman >> Lill's Travels in Santa Claus Land
LILL'S TRAVELS
IN SANTA CLAUS LAND.
AND OTHER STORIES.
BY
ELLIS TOWNE, SOPHIE MAY AND ELLA FARMAN.
BOSTON:
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY,
FRANKLIN ST., CORNER OF HAWLEY.
COPYRIGHT BY
D. LOTHROP & CO.
1878.
LILL'S TRAVELS IN SANTA CLAUS LAND.
Effie had been playing with her dolls one cold December morning, and
Lill had been reading, until both were tired. But it stormed too hard to
go out, and, as Mrs. Pelerine had said they need not do anything for two
hours, their little jaws might have been dislocated by yawning before
they would as much as pick up a pin. Presently Lill said, "Effie, shall
I tell you a story."
"O yes! do!" said Effie, and she climbed up by Lill in the large
rocking-chair in front of the grate. She kept very still, for she knew
Lill's stories were not to be interrupted by a sound, or even a motion.
The first thing Lill did was to fix her eyes on the fire, and rock
backward and forward quite hard for a little while, and then she said,
"Now I am going to tell you about my _thought travels_, and they are apt
to be a little queerer, but O! ever so much nicer, than the other kind!"
As Lill's stories usually had a formal introduction she began: "Once
upon a time, when I was taking a walk through the great field beyond the
orchard, I went way on, 'round where the path turns behind the hill. And
after I had walked a little way, I came to a high wall--built right up
into the sky. At first I thought I had discovered the 'ends of the
earth,' or perhaps I had somehow come to the great wall of China. But
after walking a long way I came to a large gate, and over it was printed
in beautiful gold letters, 'Santa Claus Land,' and the letters were
large enough for a baby to read!"
How large that might be Lill did not stop to explain.
"But the gate was shut tight," she continued, "and though I knocked and
knocked and knocked, as hard as I could, nobody came to open it. I was
dreadfully disappointed, because I felt as if Santa Claus must live here
all of the year except when he went out to pay Christmas visits, and
it would be so lovely to see him in his own home, you know. But what was
I to do? The gate was entirely too high to climb over, and there wasn't
even a crack to peek through!"
Here Lill paused, and Effie drew a long breath, and looked greatly
disappointed. Then Lill went on:
"But you see, as I was poking about, I pressed a bell-spring, and in a
moment--jingle, jingle, jingle, the bells went ringing far and near,
with such a merry sound as was never heard before. While they were still
ringing the gate slowly opened and I walked in. I didn't even stop to
inquire if Santa Claus was at home, for I forgot all about myself and my
manners, it was so lovely. First there was a small paved square like a
court; it was surrounded by rows and rows of dark green trees, with
several avenues opening between them.
"In the centre of the court was a beautiful marble fountain, with
streams of sugar plums and bon-bons tumbling out of it. Funny-looking
little men were filling cornucopias at the fountain, and pretty little
barefoot children, with chubby hands and dimpled shoulders, took them as
soon as they were filled, and ran off with them. They were all too much
occupied to speak to me, but as I came up to the fountain one of the
funny little fellows gave me a cornucopia, and I marched on with the
babies.
"We went down one of the avenues, which would have been very dark only
it was splendidly lighted up with Christmas candles. I saw the babies
were slyly eating a candy or two, so I tasted mine, and they were
delicious--the real Christmas kind. After we had gone a little way, the
trees were smaller and not so close together, and here there were other
funny little fellows who were climbing up on ladders and tying toys and
bon-bons to the trees. The children stopped and delivered their
packages, but I walked on, for there was something in the distance that
I was curious to see. I could see that it was a large garden, that
looked as if it might be well cared for, and had many things growing in
it. But even in the distance it didn't look natural, and when I reached
it I found it was a very uncommon kind of a garden indeed. I could
scarcely believe my eyes, but there were dolls and donkeys and drays and
cars and croquet coming up in long, straight rows, and ever so many
other things beside. In one place the wooden dolls had only just
started; their funny little heads were just above ground, and I thought
they looked very much surprised at their surroundings. Farther on were
china dolls, that looked quite grown up, and I suppose were ready to
pull; and a gardener was hoeing a row of soldiers that didn't look in a
very healthy condition, or as if they had done very well.
"The gardener looked familiar, I thought, and as I approached him he
stopped work and, leaning on his hoe he said, 'How do you do, Lilian? I
am very glad to see you.'
"The moment he raised his face I knew it was Santa Claus, for he looked
exactly like the portrait we have of him. You can easily believe I was
glad then! I ran and put both of my hands in his, fairly shouting that I
was so glad to find him.
"He laughed and said:
"'Why, I am generally to be found here or hereabouts, for I work in the
grounds every day.'
"And I laughed too, because his laugh sounded so funny; like the brook
going over stones, and the wind up in the trees. Two or three times,
when I thought he had done he would burst out again, laughing the vowels
in this way: 'Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he, he! Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi!
Ho, ho, ho, h-o-oo!'"
Lill did it very well, and Effie laughed till the tears came to her
eyes; and she could quite believe Lill when she said, "It grew to be so
funny that I couldn't stand, but fell over into one of the little chairs
that were growing in a bed just beyond the soldiers.
"When Santa Claus saw that he stopped suddenly, saying:
"'There, that will do. I take a hearty laugh every day, for the sake of
digestion.'
"Then he added, in a whisper, 'That is the reason I live so long and
don't grow old. I've been the same age ever since the chroniclers began
to take notes, and those who are best able to judge think I'll continue
to be this way for about one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six
years longer,--they probably took a new observation at the Centennial,
and they know exactly.'
"I was greatly delighted to hear this, and I told him so. He nodded and
winked and said it was 'all right,' and then asked if I'd like to see
the place. I said I would, so he threw down the hoe with a sigh, saying,
'I don't believe I shall have more than half a crop of soldiers this
season. They came up well, but the arms and legs seem to be weak. When I
get to town I'll have to send out some girls with glue pots, to stick
them fast.'
"The town was at some distance, and our path took us by flower-beds
where some exquisite little toys were growing, and a hot-bed where new
varieties were being prop--_propagated_. Pretty soon we came to a
plantation of young trees, with rattles, and rubber balls, and ivory
rings growing on the branches, and as we went past they rang and bounded
about in the merriest sort of a way.
"'There's a nice growth,' said Santa Claus, and it _was_ a nice growth
for babies; but just beyond I saw something so perfectly splendid that I
didn't care about the plantation."
"Well," said Lill impressively, seeing that Effie was sufficiently
expectant, "It was a lovely grove. The trees were large, with long
drooping branches, and the branches were just loaded with dolls'
clothes. There were elegant silk dresses, with lovely sashes of every
color--"
Just here Effie couldn't help saying "O!" for she had a weakness for
sashes. Lill looked stern, and put a warning hand over her mouth, and
went on.
"There was everything that the most fashionable doll could want, growing
in the greatest profusion. Some of the clothes had fallen, and there
were funny-looking girls picking them up, and packing them in trunks and
boxes. 'These are all ripe,' said Santa Claus, stopping to shake a tree,
and the clothes came tumbling down so fast that the workers were busier
than ever. The grove was on a hill, so that we had a beautiful view of
the country. First there was a park filled with reindeer, and beyond
that was the town, and at one side a large farm-yard filled with
animals of all sorts.
"But as Santa Claus seemed in a hurry I did not stop long to look. Our
path led through the park, and we stopped to call 'Prancer' and 'Dancer'
and 'Donder' and 'Blitzen,' and Santa Claus fed them with lumps of sugar
from his pocket. He pointed out 'Comet' and 'Cupid' in a distant part of
the park; 'Dasher' and 'Vixen' were nowhere to be seen.
"Here I found most of the houses were Swiss cottages, but there were
some fine churches and public buildings, all of beautifully illustrated
building blocks, and we stopped for a moment at a long depot, in which a
locomotive was just _smashing up_.
"Santa Claus' house stood in the middle of the town. It was an
old-fashioned looking house, very broad and low, with an enormous
chimney. There was a wide step in front of the door, shaded by a
fig-tree and grape-vine, and morning-glories and scarlet beans clambered
by the side of the latticed windows; and there were great round
rose-bushes, with great, round roses, on either side of the walk leading
to the door."
"O! it must have smelled like a party," said Effie, and then subsided,
as she remembered that she was interrupting.
"Inside, the house was just cozy and comfortable, a real grandfatherly
sort of a place. A big chair was drawn up in front of the window, and a
big book was open on a table in front of the chair. A great pack half
made up was on the floor, and Santa Claus stopped to add a few things
from his pocket. Then he went to the kitchen, and brought me a lunch of
milk and strawberries and cookies, for he said I must be tired after my
long walk.
"After I had rested a little while, he said if I liked I might go with
him to the observatory. But just as we were starting a funny little
fellow stopped at the door with a wheelbarrow full of boxes of dishes.
After Santa Claus had taken the boxes out and put them in the pack he
said slowly,--
"'Let me see!'
"He laid his finger beside his nose as he said it, and looked at me
attentively, as if I were a sum in addition, and he was adding me up. I
guess I must have come out right, for he looked satisfied, and said I'd
better go to the mine first, and then join him in the observatory. Now I
am afraid he was not exactly polite not to go with me himself," added
Lill, gravely, "but then he apologized by saying he had some work to do.
So I followed the little fellow with the wheelbarrow, and we soon came
to what looked like the entrance of a cave, but I suppose it was the
mine. I followed my guide to the interior without stopping to look at
the boxes and piles of dishes outside. Here I found other funny little
people, busily at work with picks and shovels, taking out wooden dishes
from the bottom of the cave, and china and glass from the top and sides,
for the dishes hung down just like stalactites in Mammoth Cave."
Here Lill opened the book she had been reading, and showed Effie a
picture of the stalactites.
"It was so curious and so pretty that I should have remained longer,"
said Lill, "only I remembered the observatory and Santa Claus.
"When I went outside I heard his voice calling out, 'Lilian! Lilian!' It
sounded a great way off, and yet somehow it seemed to fill the air just
as the wind does. I only had to look for a moment, for very near by was
a high tower. I wonder I did not see it before; but in these queer
countries you are sure to see something new every time you look about.
Santa Claus was standing up at a window near the top, and I ran to the
entrance and commenced climbing the stairs. It was a long journey, and I
was quite out of breath when I came to the end of it. But here there was
such a cozy, luxurious little room, full of stuffed chairs and lounges,
bird cages and flowers in the windows, and pictures on the wall, that it
was delightful to rest. There was a lady sitting by a golden desk,
writing in a large book, and Santa Claus was looking through a great
telescope, and every once in a while he stopped and put his ear to a
large speaking-tube. While I was resting he went on with his
observations.
"Presently he said to the lady, 'Put down a good mark for Sarah
Buttermilk. I see she is trying to conquer her quick temper.'
"'Two bad ones for Isaac Clappertongue; he'll drive his mother to the
insane asylum yet.'
"'Bad ones all around for the Crossley children,--they quarrel too
much.'
"'A good one for Harry and Alice Pleasure, they are quick to mind.'
"'And give Ruth Olive ten, for she is a peacemaker.'"
Just then he happened to look at me and saw I was rested, so he politely
asked what I thought of the country. I said it was magnificent. He said
he was sorry I didn't stop in the green-house, where he had wax dolls
and other delicate things growing. I was very sorry about that, and then
I said I thought he must be very happy to own so many delightful things.
"'Of course I'm happy,' said Santa Claus, and then he sighed. 'But it is
an awful responsibility to reward so many children according to their
deserts. For I take these observations every day, and I know who is good
and who is bad.'
"I was glad he told me about this, and now, if he would only tell me
what time of day he took the observations, I would have obtained really
valuable information. So I stood up and made my best courtesy and
said,--
"'Please, sir, would you tell me what time of day you usually look?'
"'O,' he answered, carelessly, 'any time from seven in the morning till
ten at night. I am not a bit particular about time. I often go without
my own meals in order to make a record of table manners. For instance:
last evening I saw you turn your spoon over in your mouth, and that's
very unmannerly for a girl nearly fourteen.'
"'O, I didn't know _you_ were looking,' said I, very much ashamed; 'and
I'll never do it again,' I promised.
"Then he said I might look through the telescope, and I looked right
down into our house. There was mother very busy and very tired, and all
of the children teasing. It was queer, for I was there, too, and the
_bad-est_ of any. Pretty soon I ran to a quiet corner with a book, and
in a few minutes mamma had to leave her work and call, 'Lilian,
Lilian, it's time for you to practise.'
"'Yes, mamma,' I answered, 'I'll come right away.'
"As soon as I said this Santa Claus whistled for 'Comet' and 'Cupid,'
and they came tearing up the tower. He put me in a tiny sleigh, and away
we went, over great snow-banks of clouds, and before I had time to think
I was landed in the big chair, and mamma was calling 'Lilian, Lilian,
it's time for you to practise,' just as she is doing now, and I must
go."
So Lill answered, "Yes, mamma," and ran to the piano.
Effie sank back in the chair to think. She wished Lill had found out how
many black marks she had, and whether that lady was Mrs. Santa
Claus--and had, in fact, obtained more accurate information about many
things.
But when she asked about some of them afterwards, Lill said she didn't
know, for the next time she had traveled in that direction she found
Santa Claus Land had moved.
WHAT HAPPENED TO KATHIE AND LU.
It was a very great misfortune, and it must have been a sad affliction
to the friends of the two children, for both were once pretty and
charming.
It came about in this way.
Little Winnie Tennyson--she wasn't the daughter of Mr. Alfred Tennyson,
the poet-laureate of England, but _was_ as sweet as any one of that
gentleman's poems--had been to the city; and she had brought home so
many wondrous improvements that her two little bosom friends, Lu Medway
and Kathie Dysart, were almost struck dumb to behold and to hear what
Winnie said and what Winnie had.
For one thing, there were some wooden blocks, all fluted and grooved,
and Winnie could heat these blocks in the oven, and wet her hair, and
lay it between them, and O! how satin-smooth the waves would
be,--hair-pin-crimps and braid-crimps were nothing to this new and
scientific way.
Winnie also made it a matter of pride to display her overskirts. These
were arranged with ever so many tapes on the inside, and would readily
tie up into the most ravishing bunches and puffs--how Lu and Kathie,
wee-est mites of women though they were, did envy Winnie her tapes!
Their mammas didn't know how to loop a dress--witness their little
skirts pinned back into what Kathie called a "wopse."
She also had brought some tiny parlor skates, and, withal, many airs and
graces which her two young-lady aunties had taught her, among others a
funny little new accent on some of her words,--the word "pretty" in
particular. And, last of all, she had been taught to dance!
"And I can show _you_," Winnie said, eagerly, "'cause it goes by
'steps,' and uncle says I take them as pr-i-tty as Cousin Lily."
Now, in Connaut, little girls don't dance--not _nice_ little girls, nor
nice big girls either, for that matter.
The dimpled mouths opened in astonishment. "That is wicked, Winnie
Ten'son, don't you know?"
"O, but 'tisn't," said Winnie. "My aunties dance, and their mamma, my
grandmamma, was at the party once."
"We shall tell our mothers," said Lu. "I'll bet you've come home a
proud, wicked girl, and you want us to be as bad as you are."
[Illustration: "Winnie already had her class before her."]
Now Winnie was only six years old, about the same age as her virtuous
friends, and she didn't look very wicked. She had pink cheeks, and blue
eyes, and dimples. She stood gazing at her accusers, first at one and
then at the other.
"Luie," said Kathie, gravely, "we mustn't call Winnie wicked till we ask
our mothers if she is."
"No, I don't think I would," said Mrs. Tennyson, looking up from her
sewing, her cheek flushing at the sight of tears in her little Winnie's
gentle eyes.
On the way home, they chanced to see their own minister walking along.
Lu stopped short. "Kathie," said she, "I know it's awful wicked now, or
else we never should have met the minister right here. I'm just going to
tell him about Winnie."
She went up to him, Kathie following shyly.
"Mr. Goodhue, Winnie Ten'son is a nawful wicked girl!"
"She _is!_" said Mr. Goodhue, stopping, and looking down into the little
eager face.
"Yes, sir, she is. She wants us to dance!"
"She _does!_"
"Yes, sir, she does. She wanted us to learn the steps, right down in her
garden this afternoon. Would you dance, Mr. Goodhue?"
"Would I? Perhaps I might, were I as little and spry as you, and Winnie
would teach me steps, and it was down in the garden."
The little girls looked up into his face searchingly. He walked on
laughing, and they went on homeward, to ask further advice.
At home, too, everyone seemed to think it a matter for smiles, and
laughed at the two tender little consciences.
So they both ran back after dinner to Mrs. Tennyson's. But on the way
Kathie said, "They let us, the minister and ev'ry body, but if it is
wicked _ever_, how isn't it wicked _now_?"
"I s'pose 'cause we're children," Lu said wisely.
The logical trouble thus laid, they tripped on.
They were dressed in sweet pink, and their sun-bonnets were as fresh and
crisp as only the sun-bonnets of dear little country school-girls ever
can be. It was a most merry summer day; all nature moving gladsomely to
the full music of life. The leaves were fluttering to each other, the
grasses sweeping up and down, the bobolinks hopping by the meadow path.
Their friend Winnie came out to meet them, looking rather astonished.
"We're going to learn," shouted Lu, "get on your bonnet."
"But you wasn't good to me to-day," said Winnie, thoughtfully.
"We didn't da'st to be," said Kathie, "till we'd asked somebody that
knew."
Mrs. Tennyson was half of the mind to call her little daughter in; yet
she felt it a pity to be less sweet and forgiving than the child.
Winnie already had her class before her. "Now you must do just as I do.
You must hold your dress back so,--not grab it, but hold it back nice,
and you must bend forward so, and you must point your slippers so,--not
stand flat."
Very graceful the little dancing-teacher looked, tip-toeing here,
gliding there, twinkling through a series of pretty steps down the long
garden walk.
But the pupils! Do the best she might, sturdy little Kathie couldn't
manage her dress. She grasped it tightly in either fat little fist.
"Mother Bunch!" Lu giggled behind her back.
Kathie's face got very red over that. It was well enough to be
"Dumpling,"--everybody loves a dumpling; but "Mother Bunch!" So she
bounced and shuffled a little longer, and then she said she was going
home.
But Miss Lu wasn't ready. She greatly liked the new fun, the hopping and
whirling to Winnie's steady "One, two, _three!_ One, two, _three!_"
There was a grown-up, affected smirk on her delicate little face, at
which Mrs. Tennyson laughed every time she looked out. I think Lu would
have hopped and minced up and down the walk until night, if Winnie's
mother hadn't told them it was time to go.
"I don't like her old steps," said Kathie. They were sitting on a daisy
bank near Mr. Medway's.
"Well, I do," said Lu. "And you would, too, if you wasn't so chunked.
You just bounced up and down."
Kathie burst out crying. "I'll bet dancing steps _is_ wicked, for you
never was so mean before in your life, so! And you didn't dance near so
pretty as Winnie, and you needn't think you ever will, for you _never_
will!"
"Oh! I won't, won't I?" said Lu, teasingly.
"No, you won't. I won't be wicked and say you are nice, for you're
horrid."
"_You_'re wicked this minute, Kathie Dysart, for _you_'re mad."
And as she laughed a naughty laugh, and as Kathie glared back at her,
then it was that that which happened began to happen. Lu's delicate,
rosy mouth commenced drawing up at the corners in an ugly fashion, and
her nose commenced drawing down, while her dimpled chin thrust itself
out in a taunting manner; but the horror of it was that she couldn't
straighten her lips, nor could she draw in her chin when she tried.
"You _dis'gree'ble_ thing!" shrieked Kathie, looking at her and feeling
dreadfully, her eyebrows knotting up like two little squirming snakes.
"If I'm a Mother Bunch, you're a bean-pole, and you'll be an ugly old
witch some day, and you'll dry up and you'll blow away."
By this time the two little pink starched sun-bonnets fairly stood on
end at each other.
"Kathie Dysart, I'll tell your Sunday-school teacher, see if I don't."
"Tell her what? you old, _old_, OLD thing!"
[Illustration: "They grew older and uglier each moment."]
Kathie Dysart loved her Sunday-school teacher, and now she _was_ in a
rage. She couldn't begin to scowl as fiercely as she felt; her cheeks
sunk in, her lips drew down, her nose grew sharp and long in the effort.
And, all at once, as the children say, her face "froze" so. Oh! it was
perfectly horrid, that which happened to the two little dears, it was
indeed. They could not possibly look away from each other, and they grew
older and uglier each moment! Why, their very sun-bonnets--those fresh
little pink sun-bonnets--shriveled into old women's caps, and even in
the hearts of the poor little old crones the hardening process was going
on, a fierce fire of hate scorching the last central drop of dew, until
nothing would ever, ever grow and bloom again.
It was all over with Lu and Kathie forever and ever.
All this was long ago, of course--indeed, it happened "once upon a
time." It would be difficult now to verify each point in the account. On
the contrary, I suppose it just possible that there may be a mistake as
to the transformation of the children's clothes--the change of the
sun-bonnets into caps, for instance.
But, as a whole, I see no reason to doubt the story. Often, and quite
recently, too, I have seen little faces in danger of a similar
transformation.
Where anger, envy, spite, and some others of the ill-tempers, gain
control of the nerves and muscles of the human countenance, they pull
and twitch and knot and tie these nerves and muscles, until it is almost
impossible to recognize the face.
Sometimes this change has passed off in a minute; but at other times it
has lasted for hours, and there is _always_ danger that the face will
fail to recover its pleasantness wholly, that traces will remain, like
wrinkles in a ribbon that has been tied, and that, at last, the
transformation will be final and fatal, and the fair child become and
remain "a horrid old witch."
Of one thing we all are certain--that the most gossiping and malicious
person now living was once a fair and innocent child; so who shall say
that this which I have related did _not_ happen to Lu and Kathie?