Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking. Warner Susan
thought you said you were high and dry?” said Carl.
“That is a phrase which we use,” replied the red cent. “I was high and dry in one sense,—quite lifted above the little streams of water that gurgled about among the paving-stones, though the rain-drops were not wiped off my face; and as I lay there I suddenly felt myself picked up by a most careful little finger and thumb, which had no desire to get wet or muddy. They belonged to a little girl about ten years old.
“‘You pretty red cent!’ she said, admiringly,—‘how bright and nice you do look! and how funny it is that I should find you—I never found anything before. I wonder how you came here—I hope some poor child didn’t lose you.’
“While she thus expressed her opinion I was busy making up mine, and truly it was a pleasant one. Her calico frock was of an indescribable brown, formed by the fading together of all the bright colours that had once enlivened it,—water and soap and long wear had done this. But water and soap had also kept it clean, and a very little starch spread it out into some shape, and displayed the peculiar brown to the best advantage. Instead of an old straw bonnet with soiled ribbons she had a neat little sun-bonnet; but this was made of a piece of new pink calico, and made her face look quite rosy. I could not see her feet and pantalettes, for my back was towards them, but I have no doubt they were in nice order—she was too nice a child to have it otherwise. Her hair was brushed quite smooth, only when she stooped to pick me up one lock had fallen down from under the sun-bonnet; and her face was as simple and good as it could be. With what contented eyes did she look at me! She didn’t wish I was an eagle—indeed I thought it doubtful whether she had ever heard of such a thing. But I saw that her cheeks were thin, and that they might have been pale but for the pink sun-bonnet. Whatever she meant by ‘a poor child,’ little Nanny would surely have given the name to her.
“Suddenly she exclaimed,—
“‘Now I can get it!—O I’m so glad! Come little red cent, I must give you away, though I should like to keep you very much, for you’re very pretty; but you are all the money I’ve got in the world.’
“‘Now for the candy-store,’ thought I; for as she turned and began to walk away as fast as she could, I peeped into the little basket that hung on her arm and saw there a small loaf of bread—so I knew I was not to go for that commodity. She did not put me in the basket, but kept me fast in her hand as she tripped along, till we came to a large grocery. There she went in.
“‘Please sir to let me have a cent’s worth of tea?’ she said timidly.
“‘Got sixpence to pay for it?’ said one of the clerks to make the other clerks laugh, in which he succeeded.
“‘No sir, I’ve got this,’ she said, modestly showing me, and giving me a kind glance at the same time. ‘It’s only a cent, but it will get enough for mother, and she’s sick and wanted some tea so much.’
“The young men stopped laughing, and looked at the child as if she had just come out of the museum; and one of them taking down a canister measured out two or three good pinches of tea into a brown paper and folded it up. The child took it with a very glad face, laying me down on the counter with a joyful ‘Thank you, sir!’ which I by no means repeated—I wanted to go home with her and see that tea made. But we red cents can never know the good that our purchases do in the world.
“The clerk took me up and balanced me upon his finger, as if he had half a mind to give the child back her money, and pay the sum of one cent into the store out of his own private purse. But habit prevailed; and dropping me into the till I heard him remark as he closed it,—
“‘I say, Bill, I shouldn’t wonder now if that was a good child.’
“I shouldn’t have wondered, either.
“We were a dull company in the till that night, for most of the money was old; and it is a well-known fact that worn-down coins are not communicative. And some of the pieces were rusty through long keeping, and one disconsolate little sixpence which sat alone in the furthest corner of the till, was in a very sad state of mind; for he had just laid himself out to buy some rice for a poor family and now could do nothing more for them—and he was the last monied friend they had.
“In this inactive kind of life some time passed away, and though some of us were occasionally taken to market yet we never bought anything. But one evening a man came into the grocery and asked for starch, and we hoped for bright visiters; but I had no time to enjoy them, for I was sent to make change. The messenger was a manservant, and with the starch in his hand and me in his pocket he soon left the store and went whistling along the street. Then he put his other hand into the pocket and jingled me against the rest of the change in a most unpleasant manner—picking me up and dropping me again just as if red cents had no feeling. I was glad when he reached home, and ran down the area steps and into the kitchen. He gave the starch to the cook, and then marking down on a little bit of paper what he had bought and what he had spent, he carried it with the change into the parlour. But what was my surprise to find that I was in the very same house whence I had gone forth as a golden eagle!
“The old gentleman was asleep in his chair now, and a pretty-looking lady sat by, reading; while the little girl was playing with her doll on the rug. She jumped up and came to the table, and began to count the change.
“‘Two-and-sixpence, mamma—see, here’s a shilling and two sixpences and a fivepence and a red cent,—mamma, may I have this cent?’
“‘It isn’t mine, Nanny—your grandfather gave James the money.’
“‘Well, but you can pay him again,’ said the child; ‘and besides, he’d let me have it, I know.’
“‘What will you do with it, Nanny?’
“‘Don’t you know, mamma, you said you thought you would give me one cent a month to spend?’
“‘To do what you liked with,’ said her mother. ‘Yes, I remember. But what will you do with this one?’
“‘O I don’t know, mamma—I’ll see if grandpa will let me have it.’
“‘Let you have what?’ said the old gentleman, waking up.
“‘This cent, grandpa.’
“‘To be sure you may have it! Of course!—and fifty more.’
“‘No, she must have but one,’ said the lady, with a smile. ‘I am going to give her an allowance of one cent a-month.’
“‘Fiddle-de-dee!’ said the old gentleman. ‘What can she do with that, I should like to know?—one red cent!—Absurd!’
“‘Why she can do just the fiftieth part of what she could with half-a-dollar,’ said the lady, ‘and that will be money matters enough for such a little head. So you may take the cent, Nanny, and spend it as you like,—only I shall want to be told about it afterwards.’
“Nanny thanked her mother, and holding me fast in one hand she sat down on the rug again by her doll. The old gentleman seemed very much amused.
“‘What will you do with it, Nanny?’ he said, bending down to her.—‘Buy candy?’
“Nanny smiled and shook her head.
“‘No, I guess not, grandpa—I don’t know—I’ll see. Maybe I’ll buy beads.’
“At which the old gentleman leaned back in his chair and laughed very heartily.
“From that time, whenever little Nanny went to walk I went too; and she really seemed to be quite fond of me, for though she often stopped before the candy stores or the toy shops, and once or twice went in to look at the beads, yet she always carried me home again.
“‘Mamma, I don’t know how to spend my red cent,’ she said one day.
“‘Are you tired of taking care of it, Nanny?’
“‘No mamma, but I want to spend it.’
“‘Why?’
“‘Why mamma—I don’t know—money’s