Page:The International - Volume 3.djvu/581

 Holy St. Nicholas! Happy children! gilded nuts, shining apples, sugar lambs, doll babies tied up in a pillow, molasses cake horses, hearts with your names in the centre, sugar whistles, plates with pretty borders, filled with candies and almonds—all these you will get from him; all these he has prepared for you, although the very evening before you made mother’s hair stand on end with your noise, and grandmother declared you were the worst children under the sun and that she would not blame St. Nicholas in the least if he did not even give you the crumbs from his pouch.

In Loudov, Svejnoha was that happy saint, whose head was surrounded by the golden nimbus that the children had woven for him from the brightest sunbeams of their love. In preparation for his holy office every year Svejnoha ascended to the garret, where he opened a mysterious chest, out of which he brought forth St. Nicholas’s toilet. The chief of these was a golden cap, high and magnificent, such as could only be conceived and executed by some bold inventive genius. The front of it was decorated with a silver cross, and the back had long streamers that hung gracefully over gray locks and beard that would easily reach to a man’s knees. Thus attired, Svejnoha was a saint, a saint who scattered smiles, happiness and joy.

From early dawn his home was sought by a procession of young mothers, their aprons concealing surprises that they had prepared for the little ones gathered around the stove at home, wondering what St. Nicholas would bring them. There were young, girlish looking mothers, flushed with excitement; mothers so poor that they could afford to bring nothing but a few apples and nuts; rich mothers, who brought beautiful gilded sugar toys, and candies. But whether rich or poor, all were equally happy, and all with equal reverence sought out Svejnoha, in whose hands, sanctified by their holy office, they placed their children’s gifts.

For many years Svejnoha had been Loukov’s St. Nicholas, his gilded switch having reared several generations of children. The sixth of December was to him the most important of all holidays. “Let us not spoil the children’s dreams,” he would sagely remark. “They help bring them up.”

Carefully sorting his gifts, he pinned a card to each, preparing for his journey from house to house. He was just stowing away the last gift in his immense leathern bag, when who should come in but Nanka’s Hukac. He was somewhat pale, and his smile was forced. Svejnoha laid aside his work, and welcomed his son-in-law in a friendly tone. He was not disturbed, but prepared to tell the young man some hard facts, which would do him no harm.

Hukac sat down, turning his big fur cap about like a wheel.

“Getting ready, are you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yes, but I’ll not come your way since you are not on friendly terms with the stork,” replied Svejnoha quietly.

“Ha, ha! Still, there is a favor I have to ask of you, father, though I shouldn’t trouble you if there was anybody else in the village I could turn to.”

Svejnoha was silent. Then Hukac began fumbling in his pocket, and finally drew out a casket which he opened and pushed toward Svejnoha. There were ear-rings with tassels, a brooch like a twisted serpent, and a cross on a fine woven chain.

“What’s this?” stammered Svejnoha, his eyes flashing.

“Well, we’re pretty hard up, father; our house is about to be sold over our heads. Where can we get the money? I must have fifty florins. I offered them to Durda and he refused me, saying he had no use for jewels. Where else can I go? You know best what they are worth, father. Lend