The Story of the Mince Pie (Illustrated) - Josephine Scribner Gates

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was stuck full of what looked like cloves; another was tall and thin just like a stick. With him was a pair of twins. They looked for all the world like salt and pepper boxes. They were much smaller than the others and teetered on the edge of the pie like tiny fairies.

      Then came another pair, one with an orange for a head, the other a lemon. As they pranced along, their fluffy orange and yellow skirts stood out like ballet dancers.

      Then came a dumpy maid all sparkly white.

      “She’s the shape of a fat sugar bowl, Mother!” whispered Jack, and, sure enough, she looked as though she had walked right off the tea tray.

      Following her came one with a small oval brown head, looking so wise.

      With her was one with a large green head.

      Back of them strode another pair; one looking like a molasses jug, the other like a vinegar cruet.

      Such a funny lot as they were!

      We looked and laughed, and laughed and looked. They raced about on the very edge of the crust as though they were playing Ring around a Rosy; then at a signal from the tall thin fellow they ran down the spiral column of the clock over to the hearth.

      “We can have a Christmas dance right here,” cried the rosy-cheeked apple maid; at this joyful news they switched off their sashes.

      The tall thin one fastened the ends to the top of an andiron, and there in the firelight we saw a dance, such as no one ever saw before. Round and round they danced, till the iron was bound with ribbon to its very base; then the little creatures threw themselves on the hearth.

      “Let’s play school!” cried the tall thin Stick Doll, who seemed to be chairman for the occasion.

      “Mercy, no!” cried another. “I don’t like school. I don’t want to learn things.”

      “I said let’s play school. We don’t have to learn anything. It will be fun. We’ll each tell a story.”

      “A story!” echoed the whole bunch.

      “What kind of a story?”

      “A true story.”

      “We don’t know any,” they all sighed.

      “Oh, yes, you do. You all know fine stories, and if you’ll tell them, something grand is going to happen!”

      “What?” cried the audience.

      “This is the one night of all the year when wonderful things happen.”

      With wide open eyes and mouths they crept closer to the speaker, and listened breathlessly.

      “This is Christmas Eve. Didn’t you hear the mouse go up the clock? It’s hiding and watching. Pretend you aren’t looking, but see the two bright eyes peering at us, just at the end by the big hand. It wants the pie. As long as we are here it will not come down. That is a Christmas pie for the Christmas dinner to-morrow.

They’ve been peeking in that big book

      “They’ve been peeking in that big book”

      “If we go back the mouse will run down and gobble us all up. So there is nothing for us to do but stay here. It’s a long time till morning, and we better do something while we wait. How can we better while away the time than with stories? We dare not go to sleep, you know. If you’ll each tell a story you can have a gift, too.”

      “A gift!” cried the chorus. “Well, that would be worth while. Pray tell us what will the gift be?”

      “That’s a secret I am not allowed to tell. The reason is, because I do not know.”

      “He does not know. He does not know,” sang the chorus, running down the scale as a mouse runs across the piano keys.

      “Well,” cried the wee Salt and Pepper Pair which seemed inseparable, “since you know so much, you better begin the story-hour.”

      TALE OF THE RAISIN DOLL

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      “I speak to be the teacher,” cried the Raisin Doll.

      “Very well, you must tell the first story, then.”

      “What must the stories be about?”

      “Oh, there is only one thing to tell. We must each tell our history from the time we were born, in order to have the gift.”

      “Will the gift be good to eat?” asked the creamy white Fat Boy.

      “Best ever you tasted. That’s all I could find out about it. Now begin.”

      The Raisin Doll pranced over to the end of the hearth, made a quick bow, and politely began:

      “Ladies and Gentlemen:”

      Everybody giggled, but he went bravely on.

      “I don’t seem to remember the day I was born.”

      “Not many do,” whispered one to another.

      “It isn’t polite to interrupt,” frowned the speaker.

      “The first thing I remember a whole bunch of us was hanging from a vine—”

      “Ha! Ha! Ha!” shouted the chorus. “A whole bunch of him was hanging from a vine!”

      “Well, there was a whole bunch of us, and as I looked about I saw many bunches and many, many vines.

      “It was beautiful there in the sunlight. I never saw such glorious sunshine—”

      “Where?” cried the audience.

      “In a place called California.”

      “Where is that?” asked one.

      “Don’t tell us; we don’t want to know,” hastily cried the audience. “We aren’t to learn things here in this school.”

      “I won’t tell you. I’ll show you,” and the speaker hopped on to the large globe that stood in the corner.

      He slid down one side and placed his big toe on the spot where California claimed to be.

      They all watched his antics closely, for in their hearts they did want to know where those bunches of grapes grew, even though they didn’t seem to want to learn anything.

      “That’s exactly where my bunch of grapes grew, but I have cousins called Malagas and Muscatels who come from Spain.

      “You don’t want to know where that is, of course. I am now going to take a little run around the world. Pretend I’m a top spinning, and the spot where I stop and twirl will be where my relatives live. When it’s time to twirl I’ll squeak and you can then close your eyes for the moment, so you won’t add anything to your store of knowledge.

      “For my part, I would feel quite pleased if I were sailing around the world and could say, ‘Oh, Mr. Captain, just stop a few moments in Mediterranean Spain. I want a pocket full of raisins to eat; the layer kind, big fat juicy ones’; or if I were pudding hungry I’d wheedle him a little. I’d say, ‘Now, Captain dear, I’d just like to run into Valencia. We need a few pudding raisins. We’ll have a pudding that’ll melt in your mouth if we can go there.’

      “I think that’s much better than to stand around with my mouth open, and when we steam into these places be wondering what grows there, and why we stopped.”

      That was a new idea. Journeys on ships were fun, and how proud one would feel to be able to show the Captain just where to go for certain things.

      “Mother,” whispered Jack, “let’s watch where he twirls. Maybe a captain might even beg us to go and show him where

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