Chant, in unison, from the church below:
A Solis ortus cardine
Et usque terrae limitem
Christum canamus principem
Natum Maria Virgini.
[Old Man comes up tower steps and enters carrying a rat-trap, a
barley-sheaf and a dish of porridge, which he sets down on the
floor.]
OLD MAN. Now the elf shall have his Christmas porridge. And this
year he has earned it honestly--twice he awakened me when I fell
asleep and forgot the tower shutters; once he rang the bell when
fire broke loose. Merry Christmas, Elf! and many of them. [Takes up
rat-trap and sets it.] Here's your Christmas mess, Satan's rats!
A VOICE. Curse not Christmas!
OLD MAN. I believe there are spirits about to-night--Ugh! it's the
cold increasing; then the beams always creak, like an old ship.
Here's your Christmas supper. Now perhaps you'll quit gnawing the
bell-rope and eating up the tallow, you accursed pest!
A VOICE. Curse not Christmas!
OLD MAN. The spooks are at it again! Christmas eve--yes, yes!
[Places rat-trap on the floor.] There! Now they have their portion.
And now comes the turn of the feathered wretches. They must have
grain, of course, so they can soil the tin roof for me. Such is
life! The church wardens pay for it, so it's not my affair. But if
I were to ask for an extra shilling two in wages--that they
couldn't afford. That wouldn't be seen! But when one sticks out a
grain-sheaf on a pole once a year, it looks generous. Ah, that one
is a fine fellow!--and generosity is a virtue.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25