she, but she untied her cloak and got up to go
away. But then she thought they all turned as
she passed and made a clutch at her, and her legs
tottered and her knees shook, so that she almost
fell down flat on the floor. When she got as far
as the church porch they caught hold of her cloak,
but she let it slip off and left it in their hands, and hastened home as fast as she could. When she
reached her own door the clock struck one, and
when she got in she was well nigh dead for fright.
Next morning when folk went to the church there
lay her cloak on the steps of the porch, but it was
tom into a thousand bits. My mother had seen it
often before, and I fancy she saw one of the
pieces, too; but that doesn’t matter, — it was a
short, bright-red cloth cloak, with hare-skin lining
and edging, just such as were still worn when I
was a child. Now-a-days, it is rare to see one, but
there are some old women yet here in town, and
at the Widows’ home, whom I see wearing just
such cloaks at Christmas time.”
That was Mother Skau’s story. As for the children, who during the latter part of it had shown much fear and alarm, they said they wouldn’t hear any more such ugly stories. They had all crept up on the chairs and sofa, and called out that some one was catching hold of their legs under the table. Just then in came lights in the old branches, and then we found out with laughter that the children, in their fright, had been sitting with their feet on the table. The bright lights, Christmas cakes, jam-tarts, and wine, soon chased away ghost-stories and fear. Finally, for the elders’ rein-deer roast and rice custards, gave our thoughts a turn towards the substantial; and we took leave of one another at an early hour, with every good wish too for a merry Christmas.
How the others slept I knew not, but, for myself, I had a very restless night. I can’t tell if it were the tales — the strong food which I had been so long without, my weakly state, or all three toge- ther; but I tossed about from this side to that, and was deep in brownie and huldra, and ghost- stories, the whole night.
At last I found myself flying to church through the air with a pair of dumb-bells in my hands. The church was lighted up, and when I entered it I saw it was our old church up in the Dales. There was not a soul to be seen in it but Dalesmen with red caps, soldiers in full uniform, and peasant lasses with white wimples and rosy cheeks. The parson stood in the pulpit; and who should he be but my grandfather, who died when I was a little boy. But just as he was getting well into his sermon, what does he do but throw a somersault — he always was an active body— down to the church floor, so that his gown flew one way and his bands another. “There lies the parson, and here am I,” he cried, using one of his well- known expressions, “and now let’s all have a dance.”
In the twinkling of an eye off went the whole congregation in the wildest dance, and up came a tall stout Dalesman and took me by the shoulder, and said, “You must come along with me, my boy.”
My astonishment knew no bounds as I awoke at that moment, and still felt the grasp on my shoulder, and saw the image of my dream bending over my bed, with a Daleman’s cap drawn over his eyes, a fur cloak on his arm, and his two great clear blue eyes fixedly gazing at me.
“Thou dreamest, surely, boy,” he said, in the strong dialect of my native dale, “for the sweat stands on thy brow, and thou sleepest sounder than a bear in his winter lair. But wake up now, I wish thee God’s peace, and a merry Christmas from thy father and all at home. See, here is a letter from the Secretary, and here is his Finnish cloak, and yonder, down in the yard, stands Dapple.”
“Oh! Thor, is it you! and how in Heaven’s name, did you come hither?” I called out, gladly. It was my father’s groom, a splendid specimen of a Dalesman.
“Oh! I’ll soon tell thee,” answered Thor. “I came driving Dapple; but before that, the Secretary and I had been to Ness, and after we had been there, he said, ‘Thor, it’s not far now to Christiania, so thou hadst better take Dapple, and drive in, and see the lieutenant, and if he’s strong enough to travel, why, thou hadst better bring him back.’ That’s what the Secretary said.”
As we drove merrily out of the town, the day was frosty, bright, and clear, and we had the finest sleighing. As for Dapple, he stretched out his brave old legs, and got over the ground famously. We reached home that night, and such a Christmas Day as I then spent, I spent neither before nor since.
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH; or, THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE.
With “sweets for the sweet” is the Christmas tree laden,
With mottoes and trinkets for youth and for maiden:
Oh, how bright are the smiles of those ladies so fair,
As they gather the fruits that are clustering there.
The firs and the laurels their branches entwine,
The glistening leaves of the green holly shine,
Its numberless berries, so brilliantly red,
Are seen all around us, while, high over head,
The delicate mistletoe trembles! — but now
Its spell is forgotten! — The mistletoe bough
No longer can call the quick flush to the face,
Its province no more is the “dangerous place.”
Yet where is the change? Its green leaves are as bright,
Its form is as graceful, its berries as white,
As when held so sacred, in temples of old,
By our Druid forefathers, as I have been told;
Or witness’d the timid or boisterous kiss
Once claim’d for its sake at such seasons as this.
I have heard that young ladies are oftener now
Kiss’d under the rose than the mistletoe bough:
For the kiss is more sweet given under its shade;
More earnest and true are the vows that are made
By the rose-tree so sweet that in fancy grows,
And ’tis fair summer weather still under that rose:
These mystical roses throughout all the year
The-u. delicate buds and sweet blossoms uprear,
With a lovelier tint and more exquisite hue
Than yet ever in field or in garden grew:
And I'm told that young ladies would rather be now
Kiss’d under the rose than the mistletoe bough.
