Various
A Christmas Hamper: A Volume of Pictures and Stories for Little Folks
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664634177
Table of Contents
A Snow Man.
Not Such Fun as it Seemed.
The Little Thief in the Pantry.
A Very Naughty Little Person.
I ’M told I’m very naughty
I almost ’spect I am;
But, somehow, when I shut the door
It’s nearly sure to slam.
Can you tell why my shoe-strings break
And tie themselves in knots,
And how it is my copy-books
Are always full of blots?
It seems as if too many blots
Lived in one pot of ink;
But when they’re wet and shiny,
They’re pretty, don’t you think?
Why does my hair get tangled?
What makes me talk all day?
And why don’t toys and books just try
To put themselves away?
I think that p’r’aps I might be good
A little, by-and-by;
It’s very hard, but sometimes
I almost ’spect I’ll try.
But now they say I’m naughty,
And p’r’aps it’s nearly true;
There are so many naughty things
For little folks to do.
Poor Uncle Tom.
He seemed a funny old gentleman, the children thought, but still rather nice, especially when he brought those sweets out of his pocket and let them dip into the bag and take what they liked. They had seen him walking through the wood, and then when they left off playing, he had come to sit down beside them, and asked them their names.
“Mine’s Hugh, like father,” said the eldest; “and this is Lily, and this is Tom.”
The old gentleman looked a little quickly at Tom.
“Who is he named after?” he said.
The children’s faces grew grave.
“He is named after poor Uncle Tom,” said Lily in a low voice, “who went to sea and was drowned.”
There was silence for a minute. Then the old gentleman spoke again—
“So poor Uncle Tom was drowned, was he?”
“Yes,” said Hugh. “His ship was lost, and everybody was drowned, ’cept two or three that got in the boat, and Uncle Tom wasn’t among them. Father waited and waited, but it wasn’t any good. So then he put up a monument in the church just where we can see it from our pew.”
“And we always sings about the saints of God on his burfday,” said Lily, “and father cries a little.”
“No, he don’t!” said Hugh indignantly. “Father’s a man, and men don’t cry!”
“But he does,” said Lily. “I saw a weeny little tear on his cheek this morning, for to-day is Uncle Tom’s burfday, and his voice goes all shaky like, ’cause he was so fond of poor Uncle Tom, and says he was so good.”
The old gentleman sat silent, staring hard at the ground.
“Is it long since Uncle Tom went away?” he said at last.
“It is ten years,” replied Hugh. “It was the year I was born.”
“Ten years—so it is,” murmured the old gentleman—“only ten years, and it has seemed like a hundred.”
The children looked at one another surprised.
“Did you ever know Uncle Tom?” asked Hugh curiously.
“Yes, I knew him well. I was on his ship.”
“But you aren’t drowned!” cried Lily.
The old gentleman smiled.
“No,” he said, “I wasn’t drowned; I got off safe. Uncle Tom used to talk to me, though, about his old home, and one day he said that he had carved his name on a tree in the park, and I was to go and see it if I ever got home.”
“Oh, I’ll show you,” said little Tom. “It is on a beech tree close by here. I’ll show you. There it is.”
He pointed to a tree on which some initials and a date were cut deep into the bark.
“It has kept very fresh,” said the old gentleman. “I thought it would have been grown over by now.”
“Father always comes and tidies it up on uncle’s birthday,” said the boy. “See, he is coming now! I’ll go and tell him you are here.—Father!” he shouted, running off—“father, here’s a gentleman who knew Uncle Tom!”
But when father came near and saw the old gentleman, he stared at him for a moment as if he had seen a ghost, and then he gave a great cry.
“Tom,