I bring them to Christmas, you see, instead of bringing Christmas to them.”
“Can you bring us to Christmas?” asked both the children.
“That ’s what I ’m here for! And the sooner we ’re off, the more we ’ll have. We will find some of your old friends, and see what sort of a time they are having.”
She took hold of Rose’s right hand as she spoke, and of John’s left one. “Shut your eyes,” she said.
They shut them tight. Instantly they were conscious of a sort of breathless feeling, as though they had been running uphill very fast. Then they felt a little shake, and the fairy loosed their hands.
“Here we are!” she exclaimed.
They opened their eyes, and gazed around in astonishment.
Before them stretched a vast blue sea, spread beneath a sky as blue as itself. A warm, perfumed air surrounded them, and the wind rustled through the leaves of a big palm under which they stood. At one side a cave opened into a cliff; and seated before this cave, at a roughly made table, were two men. One of them, though tanned very dark, was a white man, for he had a blond beard and curling, long hair. He was curiously dressed in skins that had been made into a coat and trousers. The other man was very black, with white, flashing teeth and shiny eyes. Between them, on the ground, lay a dog, and a parrot climbed about a pole that stood near. Tethered in a patch of grass was a nanny-goat. On the table was a fine dinner, with smoking dishes and heaps of lovely fruit.
“It ’s Robinson Crusoe and man Friday,” cried John, with a gasp.
Robinson Crusoe looked up when John spoke, and immediately beckoned the children to come near.
“This is a great treat,’ he said. “These are two little friends of mine,” he went on, turning to Friday. “I think we met last Christmas in a big blue book, did n’t we?” he asked John. “Well, sit right down—you, too, dear Christmas fairy. Many a jolly little party you ’ve brought me, and it does make such a pleasant break in the monotony.
He had a deep, gruff voice, but the kindest manner. The children felt thoroughly at home at once, and sat down to the feast. Presently every one was laughing and chattering, and eating away at a great rate. Friday played tricks with the parrot and the dog, and Crusoe showed them his clock, and all the clever arrangements in his cave, one after another, and seemed to have as pleasant a time as the three visitors.
“This makes a real Christmas of it for me,” he kept saying. “You know, I ’m often mighty glad Santa Claus does n’t get round to all you children—it ’s such a treat to have some of you run in on me this way.”
“Well, you are going to be rescued pretty soon, you know,” said Rose, eagerly, feeling sorry for poor Robinson Crusoe in his loneliness.
But just then the fairy caught the children’s hands again:
“Must n’t tell the end of the story,” she whispered. “Shut your eyes; we must be off.”
Instantly the breathless feeling returned. And in a moment the little shock. When John and Rose opened their eyes this time, however, it was upon a very different scene.
They were in a square, comfortable room, which was charmingly decorated with wreaths and festoons of evergreen and holly. In the center was a Christmas tree, brilliantly lighted with candles and all hung over with shining ornaments, glowing fruit, and packages done up in colored paper. Several smiling grown-up people in quaint, old-fashioned clothes stood near the tree, and round it danced a circle of laughing children. As soon as they saw John and Rose and the fairy, they seized their hands too, and off every one went, laughing and shouting, round and round.
At length they stopped, quite tired out. And then the packages and the fruit were taken from the tree, and divided among the children, Rose and John getting theirs with the rest. Such excitement! They had gilded gingerbread figures, and red apples, and Rose had a doll, and John a shining pair of skates.
Suddenly Rose whispered to her brother: “Oh, Johnnie, listen! the tree is talking!”
So it was. Its branches were moving a little, and rustling, and the rustling made words.
“I suppose now it will begin all over again,” the tree murmured happily. “They will put on lovely fresh candles and new packages and glit- tering stars. What a wonderful life, and what a happy little fir-tree I am!”
“Why,” Rose whispered once more, “it is the little fir-tree in the Hans Andersen book for which we always felt so sorry.”
And so it was!
“What a pity it must be disappointed!” exclaimed John. And there was the fairy at once.
“Sh! ’sh!” she said. “Come, give me your hands.”
And at once they grew breathless again, and felt once more the little shock.
This time they opened their eyes to find themselves in another room, small and rather dark.189
