Gleanings of quiet hours / Priscilla Jane Thompson [electronic text]

A CHRISTMAS GHOST.

THE EVE of Christmas had arrived; The children were in bed, The clock upon the mantel, chimed The half-hours as they fled.

Aunt Lucy tip-toed 'bout her work; For work she had to do; I've never seen a Christmas eye Bring aught but work,— have you?

And so Aunt Lucy tip-toed 'bout, With heart expectant, light, "Twould be a shame to wake the babes, With Santa mos' in sight."

But all at once Aunt Lucy stopped; "Laws! Whut's dat thumpin' noise?" She had good reason to believe, It wasn't Santa Claus.

And yet, five minutes back, had she Not seen on pillows white, Four little cherubs, wrapped in sleep, Most pleasing to the sight?

With busy hands and heavy step, Aunt Lucy fairly flew; Admitting that they were awake, She had her work to do.

Next, calls she stern, behind closed door, (Too busy to pass through,) "Now, whut's flat thumpin' sound I hear? Paul Peters, is dat you?"

"Phil, Joe, an' Babe, I know is sleep, An' you, too, ought to be, Ef you don't git back in dat bed, I'll lay you 'cross my knee!"

"But mamma, Santa Claus is come! I seed him pattin' Ring, He's come an' fetched his wife along,—" "He aint cum, no sich thing!"

"But ma, he had a dreat big sack, They did'nt [sic] make no noise, An' when he set it down, to rest, He kissed Miss Santa Claus."

"You hesh yo' mouf, an' git to bed! Don't b'lieve a word you say; Fah none has come into this house, But Sis an' mister Clay."

"Nobody axed you whut you seed, All bad boys see a sight; You git in bed, or you will see, A whoopin' 'fore 'tis light.

So guilty Paul crept back to bed, Most miserable of boys, For fear she'd tell old Santa Claus, And forfeit him his toys.

Yet mamma never "peached" on him, For Santa brought a host; And so he solved the myst'ry thus: He merely saw a ghost.