“No—no—NO!” Here his voice faltered and died away as he discovered to his terror that he had no power to put his feet to the floor, nor could he reach his clothes. “Oh, I am so helpless!” he wailed—“So feeble and helpless! Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do!”
“Have a split soda!” said the Goblin—“In this dear sweet ‘Home’ it’s only sixpence! But if you put a B in it, it’s two shillings!”
Half mad with impatience, Josiah wriggled about in the bed, turning his imploring eyes on the relentless Goblin, who, perched on the quilt, was beginning to elongate itself in the most leisurely manner.
“I suppose you want to keep Christmas now!” it remarked presently—“And you’re in a hurry to begin. Is that it?”
“Yes—yes, that’s it!” stuttered Josiah, “You’ll take me, won’t you—you’ll take me——”
The Goblin waved its claw. And in another instant Josiah McNason stood erect, fully clothed, gazing fearfully up—up, ever so high at the indescribable face and form which now loomed like a monstrous bat above him. So tall had it suddenly grown and so thin,—so terrible were its goggle eyes,—so enigmatical its wide grin, that anxious as he was to depart from his present place of torture, he shook like a leaf in a stiff breeze at the prospect of another “airship” voyage with such a fearsome skipper of the winds.
“One Timothy Two!” said the Goblin,—and its voice seemed to fall from some magic pinnacle reared miles above the clouds—“One Timothy Two! Grace, Mercy, Peace! Time to keep Christmas! Christmas Day and Christmas Bells! Come along! Come along! Home for the holidays! Off we go!”
Stooping forward like a giant Cloud from the sky, the Goblin whisked off the shrinking, shuddering millionaire as easily as a gust of wind whisks off the broken branch of a tree, and spreading its great wings, whirled with a wild “Hoo-roo-oo-oo!” out into the starry spaces of the night.
Now came soft pauses of silence,—flashing gleams of colour like broken rainbows floating at will through the pure ether,—glimpses of clear sky wherein the greater planets shone gloriously, resembling revolving lights set in the watch-towers of Heaven,—straying films of pearly vapour through which the moon peered fitfully with a doubtful brilliancy—then lo! the dear familiar Earth, lifting its dark rim against the pale blue reaches of the morning—and then the Sun! Warm with its golden heart’s effulgence, the splendid Orb of life and health and beauty rose in a flood of glory over the mountain-tops and over the seas,—spreading radiance on the wintry fields,—illumining the leafless trees,—and deepening to a more vivid scarlet the berries of the thick green holly, and the dainty feathers on the breasts of the robins. And the Bells!—oh, the Bells! How they rang!—how they sang in all the turrets and steeples of every church that lifted its shining spire to the sunshine! “Peace—Good—will—! Peace—Good—will!” they seemed to say over and over again with such a gladness and a thankfulness in their soft chiming as made the heart grow full of tenderness and tears! And now, all suddenly, a tremulous little chorus of small fresh voices began to mingle with the Bells’ sweet tune—