The Mantle of Immortality

And now we come to a turning-point in the career of Santa Claus, and it
is my duty to relate the most remarkable that has happened since the
world began or mankind was created.

We have followed the life of Claus from the time he was found a helpless infant by the Wood-Nymph Necile and reared to manhood in the
great Forest of Burzee.  And we know how he began to make toys for
children and how, with the assistance and goodwill of the immortals, he
was able to distribute them to the little ones throughout the world.

The Child of the Forest

Once, so long ago our great-grandfathers could scarcely have heard it
mentioned, there lived within the great Forest of Burzee a wood-nymph
named Necile.  She was closely related to the mighty Queen Zurline, and
her home was beneath the shade of a widespreading oak.  Once every
year, on Budding Day, when the trees put forth their new buds, Necile
held the Golden Chalice of Ak to the lips of the Queen, who drank
therefrom to the prosperity of the Forest.  So you see she was a nymph
of some importance, and, moreover, it is said she was highly regarded
because of her beauty and grace.

THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN SANTAS

For once the weather bureau had scored a good, clean hit. The bull's-eye

was pierced squarely in the middle, and the promised blizzard falling
upon the city at noon held the metropolis completely in its grip.
Everything in the line of public transportation in and out of the town
was tied up so tightly that it did not seem possible that it would ever
be unraveled again. The snow was piling waist high upon the streets, and
the cutting winds played their fantastic pranks with a chill and cruel
persistence.

SUSY'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

"Tell us a story, nursie; please do", begged two little golden-haired girls, as they snuggled on the soft rug before the fire. "Did you ever have just what you wished for at Christmas, when you were a little girl?"
"Yes, I did once. I was the oldest, and had two brothers and three little sisters. We did not have a beautiful home like this. We lived in a little cottage. It was pretty, though, in the summer time, when the roses and pinks were in bloom. My father was dead, and mother worked for the rich people around the village. There was plenty to do about holiday times.

THE SCHOOLBOY’S STORY

Being rather young at present—I am getting on in years, but still I am rather young—I have no particular adventures of my own to fall back upon.  It wouldn’t much interest anybody here, I suppose, to know what a screw the Reverend is, or what a griffin she is, or how they do stick it into parents—particularly hair-cutting, and medical attendance.  One of our fellows was charged in his half’s account twelve and sixpence for two pills—tolerably profitable at six and threepence a-piece, I should think—and he never took them either, but put them up the sleeve of his jacket.

AT CHRISTMAS TIME

"WHAT shall I write?" said Yegor, and he dipped his pen in the ink.
Vasilisa had not seen her daughter for four years. Her daughter Yefimya had gone after her wedding to Petersburg, had sent them two letters, and since then seemed to vanish out of their lives; there had been no sight nor sound of her. And whether the old woman were milking her cow at dawn, or heating her stove, or dozing at night, she was always thinking of one and the same thing—what was happening to Yefimya, whether she were alive out yonder. She ought to have sent a letter, but the old father could not write, and there was no one to write.

LITTLE GRETCHEN AND THE WOODEN SHOE

By Elizabeth Harrison


Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in
a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the
edge of a great forest, whose fir trees extended for miles and miles
to the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one
room in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small
square window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built
an old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter curled a thin,
blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.

THE LEGEND OF THE "WHITE GIFTS"

As Told by Phebe A. Curtiss


A great many years ago in a land far away from us there was a certain
king who was dearly beloved by all of his people. Men admired him
because he was strong and just. In all of his dealings they knew they
could depend upon him. Every matter that came to his consideration was
carefully weighed in his mind and his decisions were always wise.
Women trusted him because he was pure and true, with lofty thoughts
and high ambitions, and the children loved him because of his
gentleness and tenderness toward them. He was never so burdened with
affairs of state that he could not stop to speak a pleasant word of
greeting to the tiniest child, and the very poorest of his subjects
knew they could count upon his interest in them.