University Missourian

The Spirit of Christmas
By Sara Lockwood

In the little village below the hill, the snow and ice-covered houses seemed snuggling up together among the fir trees in order to keep warm.

The fir trees locked their long arms together and moved restlessly to and fro, moaning now and then.

Other trees, hopelessly bare and cold, shivered in the wind and crackled their icy branches. The beautiful Lady of the Snow with all her Snow Flake Imps in attendance flitted about the village street, sliding gayly down the shop windows and flirting with the passers-by.

The Man and the Child made their way through the drifts toward the group of cottages. The Child ran and danced about, now in front, now behind the Man, shouting and laughing. She loved the white old Winter and in return Winter had commanded all his subjects to be kind to her.

So the Snow Lady kissed and caressed her and the Snow Flakes played about her merrily, touching her cheeks softly and making them rosy.

But the Man hated Winter and now he hurried along, giving no heed to the beauties about him, wishing only for the warm fire in his cottage.

The Snow Lady tried all her charms on him but he only pulled his muffler lighter about his throat and his cap more firmly upon his head and went on.

Then the Snow Flake Imps flew at him furiously. They stung his face and buried themselves inside his muffler. The North Wind tormented him, too, blowing up his sleeves and twisting his great coat about his knees until he stumbled and muttered under his breath. When the Child laughed at him and would have thrown snow in his face, he reproved her gruffly.

The Man was threshing over in his mind a question he had discussed with the Woman only the week before. They had decided to have no Christmas this year. It was foolish, very foolish to wear one's self out thinking and planning presents for all one's family and friends for months before and then perhaps not be prepared when Christmas did come. It was foolish to waste one's energy and money in so much uncalled-for excitement. No, they would have no Christmas this year nor in any year to come. Of course they would not absolutely ignore the day, but would keep it as they did the Sabbath, a day of peace and rest.

They would not allow their child to keep her belief in the foolish Santa Claus myth which they had told her so long ago.

This was the hardest part, for both the Man and the Woman dreaded to tell the Child, and they put off the task as long as possible. Now it was Christmas Eve and as the Man went home through the cold, he realized that the Child must be told tonight.

As the couple neared the cottages, the Child threw out her arms joyously as though she would embrace the whole world of Snow Flakes before she left them. And they, wild with delight, fought for a place upon her little hood and shoulders that she might carry them away with her.

One cottage was all dark except the big gray window from which long rays of light shivered out across the snow. The North Wind blew his breath into the room when the Man opened the door, then howled angrily around the house. The Woman drew a shawl closer about her throat and glanced eagerly, inquiringly at the Man. But he pretended not to see her.

"O Mother, Mother, the Snow Flakes have played with me and have told me wonderful things," cried the Child as she drew the Woman's hand across her cold damp cheek.

"And I have seen Santa Claus. He is visiting the shops now but he promised to come here tonight."

She stood on her toes and clapped her hands in her excitement and the words tumbled over one another as she tried to tell of all the beautiful toys she had seen at the shops.

The Woman pushed her aside and looked reproachfully at the Man.

So he had not told the Child. Why did he always put it off and leave it for her to do? The Woman was vexed. She turned to the Child and shook her impatiently.

"Child, haven't you learned yet that there is no Santa Claus? When will you ever get over this foolishness? You will not find your stockings filled in the morning."

Then as the Child stood looking at her with wild wondering eyes, she cried angrily: "Why do you stare at me so, don't you see it is all a lie that we have been telling you all these years?" She looked for the Man but he had left the room. Then scornfully, "We have decided never to have Christmas again."

To the Child it was all a strange muddle. Something dreadful had happened to her but as yet she could not understand what it was.

"Come, you must go to bed." The Woman's voice was cold and without feeling.

The Child obeyed silently. All her joyousness was gone. The laughter had died out of her eyes and in its place there was wonder and hurt.

But she could not talk about it now.

When the Woman had left her in the white bed by the window she cautiously opened it so the Snow Flakes could come in. And then with a great sob she told them her troubles. They soothed her and cooled her burning cheeks with hearts melting in grief and mingling with her tears, until she had cried herself to sleep.

In the big room with the bay window, the Man paced restlessly back and forth and the Woman sat by the table with the workbasket, mending, but her hands lay listlessly in her lap and she gazed into the fire.

Once her face brightened and she murmured aloud. "I wonder what Father will send us this year? He never forgets—"

The Man wheeled about with a scowl.

"Forget it yourself. If we do not give anything and do not keep Christmas, we have no business to receive presents."

"Oh!" gasped the Woman. "You do not mean that we must send back everything we get."

The Man hesitated, then impatiently, as though he were sick of the subject: "I do not know. It is all your doing. It is you who always have nervous prostration at Christmas after worrying about presents."

"I do not," she denied hotly.

"You know you suggested this, anyway.

O, I hate you and Christmas and everything."

Their Christmas Eve was spent in quarreling, and that night they dreamed of horrible plots that Santa was planning against them.

A pale moon with icicles on his whiskers watched over the little village.

The Snow Lady was asleep and the Snow Flake Imps had settled down to rest. There was a soft rustling among the firs as though they felt something mysterious in the air. And the spirit of Christmas stole through the village, scattering the essence of joy and happiness, peace and good-will wherever he went. One cottage gleamed colder and whiter than the others and seemed to stand apart as though not of them. The spirit of Christmas tried the door softly.

"Why, it is barred against me," he murmured sadly and shook his head thoughtfully. "This will never do".

So he walked about looking for a place to get in until he came to the window where the Child slept. Tenderly he sprinkled happiness and joy upon her until her lips parted in a smile. Then he flew past her to where the Man and Woman slept, and to them he gave of all his essences.

The Woman wakened first and with strange new feelings she called the man. They gazed long at one another.

"Merry Christmas," whispered the Woman.

And the Man took her in his arms and kissed her solemnly with mingled feelings of wonder and joy, peace and good will.

"We must have Christmas after all," he said, and the Woman nodded, her eyes beaming with happiness.

"I must go to the shops and bring Santa Claus for the Child before she wakes."

"Wait," said the Woman, and laughing she brought from their hiding place an assortment of new dolls and toys.

With shining faces and happy hearts the Man and the Woman hung stockings by the fireplace and heaped them with playthings.

"We will tell her she has had a bad dream," said the Man.

"No," said the Woman softly; "We will tell her it is a fairy story and Santa Claus is the Good Christmas fairy who will always be welcome here."