that they had said good-bye to their dear little friends, off they set, as godmother had told them, running straight on through the trees, where it almost seemed by the clear though soft light that a little path opened before them as they went. Till, suddenly, for a moment the light seemed to fade and disappear, leaving them almost in darkness, which again was as unexpectedly dispersed by a wonderful brilliance, spreading and increasing, so that at first they were too dazzled to distinguish whence it came. But not for long.
'See, Rollo,' cried Maia; 'see, there is our Christmas tree.'
'See, Rollo,' cried Maia; 'see, there is our Christmas tree.'
And there it was—the most beautiful they had yet seen—all radiant with light and glistening with every pretty present child-heart could desire.
'We are only to look at it, you know,' said Maia; 'it has to be packed up and sent us, of course, like the others. But,' she stopped short, 'who is that, Rollo,' she went on, 'standing just by the tree? Can it be Santa Claus himself come to see if it is all right?'
'Santa Claus,' exclaimed a well-known voice, 'Santa Claus, indeed! Is that your new name for me, my Maia?'
Then came a cry of joy—a cry from two little loving hearts—a cry which rang merry echoes through the forest, and at which, though it woke up lots of little birds snugly hidden away in the warmest corners they could find, no one thought of grumbling, except, I think, an old owl, who greatly objected to any disturbance of his nightly promenades and meditations.
'Papa, papa, dear papa!' was the cry. 'Papa, you have come back to us. That was what godmother meant,' they said together. And their father, well pleased, held them in his arms as if he would never again let them go.
'So you have learnt to know what godmother means—that is well,' he said. 'But kiss me once more only, just now, my darlings, and then you must go home and sleep till the morning. And keep it a secret that you have seen me to-night.'
He kissed them again, and before their soft childish lips had left his face, a strange dreamy feeling overpowered them. Neither Rollo nor Maia knew or thought anything more of where they were or how they had come there for many hours.
And then they were awakened—Rollo first, then Maia—by the sound of Nanni's delighted voice at their bedside.
'Wake up, wake up,' she said, 'for the most beautiful surprise has come to you for this happy Christmas Eve.'
And even without her telling them, they knew what it was—they knew who was waiting for them downstairs, nor could all their awe of Lady Venelda prevent them rushing at their father and hugging him till he was nearly choked. But Lady Venelda, I must confess, was too happy herself to see her kinsman again to be at all vexed with them. And her pleasure, as well as that of the kind old doctor, was increased by the thanks they received for all their care of the children, whom their father declared he had never seen so bright or blooming.
And, a few days afterwards, they went back with him to their own happy home; and what then?—did they ever see godmother and Waldo and Silva again? I can only answer, like godmother herself, 'I hope so; yes, I hope so, and think so.' But as to how or where—ah, that I cannot say!
THE END.
The Little City of Hope (F. Marion Crawford)
I. HOW JOHN HENRY OVERHOLT SAT ON PANDORA'S BOX
II. HOW A MAN AND A BOY FOUNDED THE LITTLE CITY OF HOPE
III. HOW THEY MADE BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW
IV. HOW THERE WAS A FAMINE IN THE CITY
V. HOW THE CITY WAS BESIEGED AND THE LID OF PANDORA'S BOX CAME OFF
VI. HOW A SMALL BOY DID A BIG THING AND NAILED DOWN THE LID OF THE BOX
VII. HOW A LITTLE WOMAN DID A GREAT DEED TO SAVE THE CITY
VIII. HOW THE WHEELS WENT ROUND AT LAST
IX. HOW THE KING OF HEARTS MADE A FEAST IN THE CITY OF HOPE
I
HOW JOHN HENRY OVERHOLT SAT ON PANDORA'S BOX
"Hope is very cheap. There's always plenty of it about."
"Fortunately for poor men. Good morning."
With this mild retort and civil salutation John Henry Overholt rose and went towards the door, quite forgetting to shake hands with Mr. Burnside, though the latter made a motion to do so. Mr. Burnside always gave his hand in a friendly way, even when he had flatly refused to do what people had asked of him. It was cheap; so he gave it.
But he was not pleased when they did not take it, for whatever he chose to give seemed of some value to him as soon as it was offered; even his hand. Therefore, when his visitor forgot to take it, out of pure absence of mind, he was offended, and spoke to him sharply before he had time to leave the private office.
"You need not go away like that, Mr. Overholt, without shaking hands."
The visitor stopped and turned back at once. He was thin and rather shabbily dressed. I know many poor men who are fat, and some who dress very well; but this was not that kind of poor man.
"Excuse me," he said mildly. "I didn't mean to be rude. I quite forgot."
He came back, and Mr. Burnside shook hands with becoming coldness, as having just given a lesson in manners. He was not a bad man, nor a miser, nor a Scrooge, but he was a great stickler for manners, especially with people who had nothing to give him. Besides, he had already lent Overholt money; or, to put it nicely, he had invested a little in his invention, and he did not see any reason why he should invest any more until it succeeded. Overholt called it selling shares, but Mr. Burnside called it borrowing money. Overholt was sure that if he could raise more funds, not much more, he could make a success of the "Air-Motor"; Mr. Burnside was equally sure that nothing would ever come of it. They had been explaining their respective points of view to each other, and in sheer absence of mind Overholt had forgotten to shake hands.
Mr. Burnside had no head for mechanics, but Overholt had already made an invention which was considered very successful, though he had got little or nothing for it. The mechanic who had helped him in its construction had stolen his principal idea before the device was patented, and had taken out a patent for a cheap little article which every one at once used, and which made a fortune for him. Overholt's instrument took its place in every laboratory in the world; but the mechanic's labour-saving utensil took its place in every house. It was on the strength of the valuable tool of science that Mr. Burnside had invested two thousand dollars in the Air-Motor without really having the smallest idea whether it was to be a machine that would move the air, or was to be moved by it. A number of business men had done the same thing.
Then, at a political dinner in