The Autobiography of Santa Claus by Guinn Jeff

Author:Guinn, Jeff [Guinn, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2006-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

A family’s stockings hanging by the fireplace

“Where?” I asked, worried someone had seen us.

“That, that—well, that thing on the side of the cottage!” Felix spluttered. I looked where he was pointing, and there attached to one outer wall was a squarish-looking stone structure tall enough to stick above the roof. Little swirls of woodsmoke were coming out of the top of it.

After a few moments of thought, I whispered, “That must be one of those newfangled chimneys we’ve been hearing about. You know, with fires built in the bottom of them to provide homes with light and warmth. That part is known as the fireplace. Then the smoke from the fire comes out the top of the chimney and doesn’t settle back inside the house.”

“Amazing,” Felix answered. We both stood looking in wonder at this chimney. Then he added, “Well, let’s go inside.”

We rarely had any trouble getting into a house or cottage. Fancy locks for doors hadn’t been invented yet. Later on, when they were, Attila proved masterful at teaching the rest of us how to open them. So Felix and I easily opened the wooden door of the cottage and slipped inside.

As with most cottages in small European villages of this time, there was only one large room. Seven people were sleeping in it, apparently the two parents, the two children, a grandmother and a grandfather and an aunt. Often lots of relatives lived together, for shelter was scarce. We quickly identified the straw bedding where the two boys slept, but before we left our gifts beside them we found ourselves drawn back to the marvelous fireplace. A tiny blaze burned at the bottom of it.

“Look at how the smoke is drawn straight up,” Felix muttered. “If you weren’t so wide in the middle, you could get into houses just by getting on the roof and jumping down the chimneys.”

It was rare that we ever talked while inside a house, for fear of waking someone up, but I couldn’t let this insult pass.

“You’re quite wide yourself, my friend, so don’t mock my waistline,” I said. “Besides, if I jumped down the chimney I’d burn my feet on the fire when I landed! Still, you’ve given me an idea. Look, for instance, at how the whole family’s stockings have been hung up by the front of the fireplace to dry in front of the flames while everyone sleeps. Remember my story of leaving my first gifts ever in the stockings of Shem’s daughters? Let’s leave these toys in the stockings of the boys. They won’t burn—the fire isn’t that large or hot—and in the morning maybe the family will think the mysterious gift-giver came down the chimney, just as you suggested!”

So we put toys in the stockings and hurried on to the next cottage, and the next, and the next, and the next. In each one with a chimney we found stockings drying in front of the fire, and we always left our gifts in the smaller stockings worn by the children.

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