“No, no, no! He will come back. He brought us pretty things. He will come back to us.”
O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Is your strength still greater than this?
There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a voice—hark! a voice!—
“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I have come back to you!” And from beneath the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang, all jingling with silver bells, and flashing with a thousand toys.
Then again there was great confusion, but this time no sound of lamentation; and the solemn funeral march swept into a strain of joyful music. And the children! Oh, the children, in wild delight, played in circles about the queer, grotesque being, who set to work destroying the snow-tomb. He threw it at them in small crystal showers that called up, each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful laughter. He detached the bright toys from his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from his knees, and rained them down upon the little ones who raced round him in their mad frolic. Then he took off the false face and threw it far away, and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is the Professor!” and drew back awe-struck, to think they had taken such liberties with so renowned a scholar. But the children never paused in their romp; and he said, while they scrambled about him in merry laughter,—
“I have come back to you, children. I have come back to you!”
And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what life was; then how should I know of death?” O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Here are those who teach a philosophy of which you know nothing—a philosophy higher than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy of love; a philosophy of death that is no sleep!
The sun came out and spread a jeweled splendor on the snow, over which, hand-in-hand, the happy children danced.
The Professor is an old man now, and the fame of his learning has become great in the land. And all the people tell about his funeral; and how, every Christmas since, in his scarlet clothes and furs, laden with “pretty things,” he leads the children in their play, and scatters on them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful groups, join their hands and dance.
