But you don’t know who Madam Iceberg was. She was the most-wondered-about person anywhere around. Long ago she used to go traveling, and have visitors from away off come to see her. At those times the big house would be lighted from top to bottom, with all sorts of things going on. Then she was really beautiful to look at. But mercy me, how she’d gone off these last years! Now her hair was far too yellow and her cheeks far too pink and her eyes were—uneasy.
There were No Trespassing signs all over her place; and rather than buy at any of our stores, she used to drive every day in her high carriage over to the next town and do all of her shopping there. So you can see that she wasn’t at all friendly with any of us thereabout.
Of course little Bunny Face had never talked to her, but he felt sure Santa Claus wouldn’t risk bothering much around her chimneys.
So with his head filled with these thoughts he went on till he came to the Parson’s little white house. Bunny Face decided to knock on the door and ask how the dog was. And the door was quickly opened by the Parson himself, who invited him right in.
And the Parson’s sister got him some supper, and he sat on a little stool by the fire and ate it while he told them about hunting for Santa Claus’ house. Then Bunny Face said that he knew five folks that wouldn’t have any Christmas, yes, sir. “Me,” he said, “Agnes, the dump children, the janitor, and Madam Iceberg.”
“Well, maybe not,” said the Parson.
Then he talked about something else, and asked Bunny Face if he had ever heard the Christmas Story. As Bunny Face didn’t know that there was one, he shook his head. So the Parson opened a book and turned pages, then read: “‘And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.’”
When it was finished the Parson closed the book, saying: “It’s the Spirit of Christmas, sonny—the Spirit of Christmas that the world needs.”
Bunny Face liked the idea. Spirits were a sort of ghosts or goblins; he knew that much. Not like Santa Claus at all—fat and pink, but different. He’d rather think that the Spirit was like a beautiful lady, a sort of fairy. So that’s what he was thinking about one day coming home from school, when he heard the sound of sleigh bells behind him. He turned around and waited, for hopping bobs in those days was a great sport with the children. But it wasn’t a bobsled at all, but Madam Iceberg’s fine green sleigh, fur rugs and all.
“Who’s afraid?” said Bunny Face to himself as the sleigh glided past him, and he hopped lightly on behind, to the surprise of all the people in the street.