“It will not look meanly beside the other gifts,” he thought, happily. In fact he was so happy that he gave away all but one pfennig to the blind beggar who passed his door; and then, remembering that he had eaten nothing since breakfast, he spent that last pfennig for a Christmas apple to eat with a crust of bread he had. These he was putting by in the cupboard to eat after he was dressed, when the door opened and Trude was standing there crying softly.
“Kindlein—kindlein, what ails thee?” And he gathered her into his arms.
“’Tis the father. He is hurt, and all the money that was put by for the tree and sweets and toys has gone to the Herr Doctor. And now, how can I tell the children? Already they have lighted the candle at the window and are waiting for Kriss Kringle to come.”
The clock-maker laughed merrily.
“Come, come, little one, all will be well. Hermann will sell a clock for thee. Some house in the city must need a clock; and in a wink we shall have money enough for the tree and the toys. Go home and sing.”
He buttoned on his greatcoat and, picking out the best of the old clocks, he went out. He went first to the rich merchants, but their houses were full of clocks; then to the journeymen, but they said his clock was old-fashioned. He even stood on the corners of the streets and in the square, crying, “A clock—a good clock for sale,” but no one paid any attention to him. At last he gathered up his courage and went to the Herr Graff himself.
“Will your Excellency buy a clock?” he said, trembling at his own boldness. “I would not ask, but it is Christmas and I am needing to buy happiness for some children.”
The Herr Graff smiled.
“Yes, I will buy a clock, but not that one. I will pay a thousand gulden for the clock thou hast had in thy window these four days past.”
“But, your Excellency, that is impossible!” And poor Hermann trembled harder than ever.