Mr. Kris Kringle | Page 6

went on.
"Soon he found shelter under a cliff, where no snow was, and with his flint and steel struck a light, and made with sticks and logs a big fire. After this he felt warm and better all over and fell asleep. When he woke up it was early morning, and looking about, he saw in the rock little yellow streaks and small lumps, and then he knew he had found a great mine of gold no man had ever seen before. By and by he got out of the valley and found his companions, and in the spring he went to his mine, which, because he had found it, was all his own, and he got people to work there and dig out the gold. After that he was no longer poor, but very, very rich."
"And was he good then?" said Hugh.
"And did he go home," said Alice, "and buy things?"
"Yes, he went. One day he went home and at night saw his house and little children, and--but he will not stay, because there is no love waiting in his house, and all the money in the world is no good unless there is some love too. You see, dear, a house is just a house of brick and mortar, but when it is full of love, then it is a home."
"I like that man," said Hugh. "Tell me more."
"But first," said Alice, "oh! we do want to see all our presents."
"Ah, well. That is all, I think; and the presents. Now for the presents." Then he opened a bag and took out first a string of great pearls, and said, as he hung them around Alice's neck, "There, these the oysters made for you years ago under the deep blue sea. They are for a wedding gift from Chris. They are too fine for a little maid. No Queen has prettier pearls. But when you are married and some one you love vexes you or is unkind, look at these pearls, and forgive, oh! a hundred times over; twice, thrice, for every pearl, because Kris said it. You won't understand now, but some day you will."
"Yes, sir," said Alice, puzzled, and playing with the pearls.
Said Hugh, "You said, Mr. Khwis, that the oysters make pearls. Why do the oysters make pearls?"
"I will tell you," replied Kris. "If a bit of something rough or sharp gets inside the oyster's house, and it can't be got rid of, the oyster begins to make a pearl of it, and covers it over and over until the rough, rude thing is one of these beautiful pearls."
"I see," said Hugh.
"That is a little fairy tale I made for myself; I often make stories for myself."
"That must be very nice, Mr. Khwis. How nice it must be for your little children every night when you tell them stories."
"Yes--yes"--and here Kris had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.
"Isn't that a doll?" said Alice, looking at the bag.
"Yes; a doll from Japan."
"Oh!" exclaimed Alice.
"And boxes of sugar-plums for Christmas," he added. "And, Hugh, here are skates for you and this bundle of books."
"Thank you, sir."
"And these--and these for my--for Alice," and Kris drew forth a half-dozen delicate Eastern scarves and cast them, laughing, around the girl's neck as she stood delighted.
"And now I want to trust you. This is for--for your mother; only an envelope from Kris to her. Inside is a fairy paper, and whenever she pleases it will turn to gold--oh! much gold, and she will be able then to keep her old home and you need never go away, and the pony will stay."
"Oh! that will be nice. We do sank you, sir; don't we, Alice?"
"Yes. But now I must go. Kiss me. You will kiss me?" He seemed to doubt it.
"Oh! yes," they cried, and cast their little arms about him while he held them in a long embrace, loath to let them go.
"O Alice!" said Hugh, "Mr. Khwis is cwying. What's the matter, Mr. Khwis?"
"Nothing," he said. "Once I had two little children, and you see you look like them, and--and I have not seen them this long while."
Alice silently reflected on the amount of presents which Kris's children must have, but Hugh said:
"We are bofe wewy sorry for you, Mr. Khwis."
"Thank you," he returned, "I shall remember that, and now be still a little, I must write to your mother, and you must give her my letter after she has my present."
"Yes," said Alice, "we will."
Then Kris lit a candle and took paper and pen from the table, and as they sat quietly waiting, full of the marvel of this famous adventure, he wrote busily, now and then pausing to smile on them, until he closed and gave the letter to the boy.
"Be careful of these things," he said,