The Adventures of Nicholas Page 4

  “Then,” said Arno, “we ran right into more people who looked like him—lots more—and even women and babies. Bad men don’t go around with babies, do they Nicholas?”

  “No, I expect not,” Nicholas said, smiling. “And just because people look different doesn’t make them bad. Besides, I think I know who they may be. Did they have any horses or carts with them?”

  “They had three or four horses and a big covered wagon. One of the wheels had come off, and

  it looked as though it was stuck in the snow. Who are they, Nicholas?”

  “Do you know, I think they might be Gypsies,” said Nicholas.

  “Gypsies!” exclaimed all the children at once.

  “Gypsies don’t usually come this far north in the wintertime, but these people may have lost their way, and they can’t go farther south now until spring comes. Very few travelers can get through the pass in the mountains, and if their horses are old they would be foolish to try.”

  “But where will they live, Nicholas?” Elsa asked, no longer afraid. “The little babies and their mothers can’t stay out in the cold, and there aren’t any houses in the village where they can stay.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “That’s true, but I guess Gypsies are used to all kinds of weather. Why, I’ll bet those babies would cry if they woke up at night and saw a real roof over their heads.”

  “I’d like to camp out in the open all the time like the Gypsies,” said one of the boys who had been most frightened. “Only, how can they hang up their stockings if they have no doors?”

  “They haven’t even got a chimney. Even Kati’s house had a chimney,” said a little girl. “Do you think they like toys, Nicholas? Are they like other children?”

  “Yes, those little Gypsies out there in the pine grove are just like you,” Nicholas said, whistling for Vixen to come play with the little group. So the children forgot their fright and started to play robbers with the little reindeer, who was a splendid playmate because he always wanted to do the chasing.

  Just as Nicholas had supposed, the band of Gypsies had been caught in an early winter storm. They explained their troubles to the villagers, who gave them as much food as they could spare, but there was no hope of anyone having enough room to offer them shelter. The Gypsies would just have to make the best of it in their wagon and tents in the pine grove, relying on the thick evergreens to keep out the winter winds.

  The children soon made friends with the Gypsies, and there were many happy times in the camp. The Gypsy fathers would build big fires, and then all of them would gather around to sing their sad, sweet songs. Toward Christmas, the village children entertained the Gypsies with long stories about Nicholas—how he went around from house to house filling stockings with beautiful toys and sweets and nuts, and how he even went down a chimney one Christmas Eve because there was no other way of getting into the house.

  The Gypsy children listened eagerly. But then they looked at the ragged tents where they lived and shook their heads. “He couldn’t visit us,” they said. “We have no doors, no chimneys, and we never wear stockings.”

  Little Elsa, who wanted everybody to be happy, reported these things to Nicholas. Although he never said anything, she knew that the smile on his lips meant he had a plan in his wise old head.

  Christmas Eve finally arrived. But this year, after he had finished going to each house in the village, Nicholas drove his reindeer right past his cottage and out into the forest. He stopped at the pine grove, where he was met by Grinka, the Gypsy leader.

  “Here are the candles, Grinka. Remember what I said you’re to do?” The man nodded. “Good! You do your part and I’ll follow along with these things.”

  The Gypsy silently went from one little fir tree to another, twisting a piece of cord around the base

  of each candle and tying it to a branch. Then Nicholas would finish decorating the tree with shiny red apples, brown nuts, and, of course, his lovely hand-carved toys. There were over ten of the evergreens to be trimmed, as Nicholas insisted on having a tree for every family of Gypsy children. It was almost dawn before they finished.

  “Now for the lights,” said Nicholas.

  They went quickly from tree to tree, touching a taper to each candle, until the whole grove was twinkling and glowing with warmth and beauty.

  “Be sure to waken the children before the sun shines through the pine trees and spoils the effect,” Nicholas warned.

  “All right,” said Grinka. “I’ll go and wake them now, before you go.”

  “Oh no!” said Nicholas in alarm. “They mustn’t see me. The children must never see me. Now I must go.”

  A few moments later Grinka aroused all the children in the camp. They danced around among the beautiful trees, each one discovering something to exclaim about.

  “It’s the lights that make everything so beautiful,” said one child.

  “Oh no, it’s the gifts!” shouted another.

  “It’s the fruit and sweets,” added one hungry youngster, who was stuffing his mouth with goodies.

  “I think everything is beautiful because it’s Christmas,” decided one wise boy.

  “Yes, yes, because it’s Christmas,” they all shouted, dancing around. “And these are our Christmas trees!”

  The light inside the forest grew dimmer and dimmer.

  A PRESENT FOR NICHOLAS

  OLVIG—or Holly, as she was called—was one of those timid little girls who hated to go to bed, not just because it was bedtime, but because she was afraid of the dark. She was a lonely little girl too, because she was also afraid of the other children. Some of the big boys in the village used to tease her by making loud noises behind her back and jumping out at her from dark corners. So most of the time she played by herself or kept busy raising her flowers.

  “Flowers!” her father would exclaim in disgust. “We have them in the yard in the summer and then she putters over those flower pots in the house all winter. Why she’s afraid of almost every living thing in the world except flowers. Silliness, I call it.”

  “Some day,” her mother would say, “something will happen to make Holly forget her fears. She’s

  such a good child, she’d do anything for someone she loved, even if it took the last ounce of her courage.”

  Holly loved flowers, and she had wonderful skill in raising them in the harsh northern climate. The little garden around the cottage was lovely all through the short summer. Then, when the first sharp frost of the autumn chilled the air, she would tenderly transplant all the plants which would grow in the house, and gather seeds from the others for spring planting.

  Like all the other children of the village, she hung her stocking on the door every Christmas Eve, and every Christmas morning discovered the same lovely gifts and sweets. But unlike the other children, she couldn’t take for granted the warm generosity of Nicholas, the woodcarver. she wanted to show him how thankful she was that someone did not think her odd because she was afraid and shy with other children.

  She thought and thought of something to do that would please Nicholas. Finally she decided that she would give him something that gave her more pleasure than anything else in the world: she would share her flowers with him.

  So, the little girl picked a small bouquet of bright blossoms from her window boxes, bundled up in her cloak and hood, and started for Nicholas’ cottage. “I’m glad he lives at the edge of the wood,” she thought to herself as she walked down the road through the deep snow. “I don’t think I could ever make myself walk into the woods.” She shivered and walked a little faster, holding the fragile

  bouquet close to her warm cheek to protect it from the cold.

  “I’d like so much to talk to him,” she said to herself. “I’m sure he doesn’t know me. They say he’s getting so old now that he doesn’t remember all the children and just fills a stocking wherever he see
s one. I think I’ll just leave the flowers outside the door, the way he leaves his gifts. That’s what I’ll do,” she decided, and skipped along until she reached the cottage gate.

  She crept quietly across the yard and was just about to leave her posies on the doorstep when a loud crash from the stable made her freeze in her tracks. Her heart almost stopped beating, and she was too terrified to move. A huge animal burst through the open stable door and rushed straight for her.

  She shut her eyes and thought wildly, “I’m going to die!” A moment that seemed like a year passed, while she waited silently for death. Then, finding that she was still alive, she slowly opened her blue eyes and stared straight into a pair of beautiful soft brown ones.

  “Oh, it’s a reindeer,” she gasped, losing some of her fear. But she was still too frightened to move.

  Vixen, growing tired of standing still, moved closer and closer until his nose touched the pretty flowers. He opened his mouth and nibbled one. It tasted so good he began to eat another.

  Holly angrily snatched her flowers away and began to pound Vixen with her closed fist.

  Suddenly she heard a voice behind her say, “Here, here! What are you doing to my Vixen?

  You’re frightening him!”

  She turned and saw Nicholas standing in the doorway. “I frightened him!” gasped Holly.

  “Yes, of course you did,” said Nicholas. “Don’t you know deer are timid creatures and easily frightened?”

  “But he was eating your flowers and…do you really mean to say he was frightened of me?”

  Nicholas laughed a little impatiently. “Yes. My goodness, child, didn’t you think you could frighten an animal like that?”

  “No,” said Holly softly. “I’ve never scared anybody in my life. Somebody’s always frightening me.”

  Nicholas looked down at the pale little face. “Come into my workshop and let’s talk a while,” he said quietly. “I think we shall have to get acquainted.”

  After Holly had been served a bowl of warm milk, Nicholas asked, “What is your name, my dear?”

  “Holvig is my real name, but everyone calls me Holly. I came to bring you flowers, but…but… Vixen ate them.” She looked shyly at Nicholas, and they both burst out laughing at the thought of the naughty little reindeer.

  Nicholas wanted to know all about Holly’s garden and her winter plants and her family. As the little girl talked, the kindly woodcarver realized how lonely and fearful she was.

  “Well, I think you did a very brave thing to save my bouquet,” he said when she had finished. “But I was really afraid at first,” Holly said truthfully.

  “Perhaps you were, Holly. But to do something when you’re really afraid is braver than if you don’t feel any fear at all. Always remember that, my dear.”

  “I will, Nicholas,” she promised, “and I’ll bring you some more flowers next week.” As Holly left the cottage, she noticed Vixen poking his head at her from behind a tree. Her heart skipped a little, but she straightened her shoulders and walked over to the reindeer. “Boo!” said Holly to Vixen. Vixen turned and ran.

  HOLLY GETS ITS NAME

  OLLY often brought a bouquet of her flowers to Nicholas, and she and the woodcarver soon became very good friends. Nicholas would sit at his bench working on his little toys, and Holly would sit on a stool at his feet and talk and talk. She discovered that talking about her fears here in this cozy room somehow made them seem less frightening.

  One time he asked, “Are you afraid of rabbits, Holly?”

  “Oh no!” she laughed. “That’s one thing I know that’s afraid of me. Why, rabbits even run at my shadow!”

  “True, they are fearful little creatures,” said Nicholas. “Did you ever see where rabbits live, Holly?”

  “Yes, they go down into little holes in the ground, don’t they?”

  “Mmmmm,” answered Nicholas, busily carving. “They must be terribly dark, those little holes. Yet those little timid animals go down there to bed every night and probably don’t think anything about it.”

  Holly frowned. “I see what you mean, Nicholas. If my room were really as dark as a rabbit’s hole, maybe I wouldn’t mind. But it’s only half dark, and the chairs and table and things look so different in the moonlight. I…I sometimes think they are goblins.”

  “You little silly,” said Nicholas tenderly. “Now you listen to me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Holly nodded and climbed up on his knee.

  “Well, I’m going to tell you something. There aren’t any goblins, and there aren’t any terrible creatures who run around trying to harm little children. If you’re a good girl and do what your mother tells you, and say your prayers before you go to bed every night, nothing can harm you. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

  Holly looked very much impressed. “It will be hard at first,” she said after a moment. “But if I think I see a goblin in my room, I’ll just say, ‘Nicholas says you really aren’t there!’”

  They both laughed, and Nicholas told her it was time to run home to her supper.

  Spring arrived, but just when it was time for planting, Holly became ill with fever. All through the short summer weeks she lay on her bed, not recognizing anyone, not even her beloved Nicholas.

  He took flowers to her, hoping they might bring back her wandering little mind, but she only pushed them away. In her illness, Holly screamed about big black giants and horrible goblins, and Nicholas sadly realized that all their friendly little talks had been completely wiped from her mind.

  Many months later, Holly recovered. The fever had left her the same timid little girl she had been when she first brought a bouquet to Nicholas. Now she sat at the window during the day and stared out at the bare, cold little yard. It was winter again, but this year there were no flowers.

  Holly was lonelier than she had ever been during her entire life. For long months to come she would have nothing to bring to Nicholas. She pressed her thin little face against the windowpane and looked with tear-filled eyes out into the bleak front yard.

  Two boys were passing the gate and stopped to wave kindly at her. Holly waved back and wiped her eyes. She pushed open the window and called out, “What’s that green stuff you have under your arm, Peter?”

  The boys came over to the window. Peter held up an armful of lovely red berries scattered among shiny, pointed green leaves.

  “We got it in the woods…way back in the part they call the Black Forest. It grows like this all through the winter,” Peter told her. “I don’t know what the name of it is.”

  “Here,” said Eric, “you can have a little branch of mine if you want. I’d give it all to you,” he added shyly, “except I don’t think we’ll be going back there, do you, Peter?”

  “I wouldn’t go back there alone, I can tell you. If you got lost there, I guess you’d stay lost.”

  The two boys went on their way, leaving Holly a small branch of shiny green leaves and bright-red berries. The cheery plant somehow reminded her of Nicholas, so bright and rosy. But the Black Forest!

  Holly buried her face in her hands. “If only I dared to do it,” she sobbed. “But even the boys are afraid to go there alone. Nicholas said that to do a thing when you’re really afraid is braver than if you feel no fear at all. But I can’t go, I can’t!”

  She sat there for a long time, trying to decide what to do. “I’ve got to do it… for Nicholas…I haven’t any flowers for him. But it’s a horrible place…something terrible will happen to me. No—Nicholas said nothing could harm a good child, and I’ve tried to be good. I think…yes, I’m going to do it!”

  Holly ran for her cloak before she had a chance to change her mind and before her mother returned from the village.

  Nicholas looked up from his work and saw a little girl running along the road, right past his cottage and into the woods. “That looks like Ho
lly,” he thought in alarm. “No, it can’t be. She’s not well yet, and besides, she would never have the courage to go into the woods. It must be some other child.”

  An hour later, however, Holly’s mother knocked anxiously on his door. “Oh, I thought she was

  here,” she said worriedly. “Where has she gone? She’s lost, and it’s beginning to storm!”

  Nicholas was quickly pulling on his bright-red coat and stocking cap. “I’ll find her, don’t you worry.” He looked out at the gray afternoon sky. The air was filled with millions of snowflakes blowing in every direction, striking fear in the hearts of the man and woman who knew that Holly had to be found before darkness closed off the woods.

  “I know where to look,” said Nicholas. “I’ll take the small sled and Vixen. You sit down here and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll have your Holly back before the snow covers my front walk.”

  Holly, meanwhile, had found the tree with the red berries, and had stayed longer than she intended, to gather a huge armful of the branches. By the time she started back, the snow had begun to fall.

  “I can’t understand it,” she murmured, as she tried to find the narrow path. “It’s getting darker and darker.” She began to run, her head bent against the wind, her feet tripping over the rocks and stumps hidden in the snow.

  “I can’t see anything,” she sobbed. “I can’t lift my feet any more.” Panic-stricken, she saw a huge shape coming at her through the clouds of snow. She closed her eyes and fell face down in front of Nicholas and Vixen.

  When she awoke, she was in the woodcarver’s cottage. Her mother was holding her in her arms, and Nicholas’ kind face was bent over her.

  “Where are the branches?” she asked. “I went into the Black Forest alone to get them for you. Where are they? “

  Nicholas put the bright leaves and berries in her arms. “Here they are, my dear. Did you bring them for me? “