“Indeed you can,” said the governess, eagerly, “if you will only tell me what to do with the banker’s Dorothy. She has everything in the world to please and amuse her, and yet she’s always in a fret. As for clothes, she has so many pretty things that she can’t tell which she wants to wear. I ran away just now because I was quite worn out with her grumbling. I left her fussing over a pink, a blue, and a green frock, trying to decide which to put on, and in such a temper that she couldn’t look nice in anything.”
“I see! I see!” replied the dame; “a very bad case indeed! Just bring her to me at once and she shall report to Santa Claus— Ah, here she is! Come right along, Dorothy; you’re just the kind of little girl needed in this procession! Stop fretting, directly, and step in line behind the minister’s twin grandchildren and we’ll move on!”
And away again went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, and the banker’s Dorothy.
“Let me see,” said the dame, as they reached the end of the street; “I think I have heard that the barber’s grandmother was a terrible grumbler—I might try to find out.” So at a little house at the corner they all waited while she knocked vigorously at the door. It was opened quickly by a sharp-looking little old woman who held on her arm a big basket of mending.
“What do you want!” she said crossly. “I haven’t time to say a word to anybody, so I can’t ask you in. I’m just as fretted as I can be with all this mending to do! I do think that after darning socks for nearly fifty years I might be allowed to hold my hands for a bit; but every week here’s this great basket full and nobody but me to attend to it. It makes me so cross that I grumble over every pair of the old socks—I wish they were in Guinea!”
“Tut! Tut!” replied Dame Quimp, sternly. “I don’t know much about Guinea, but I do know where you’re going! You’re the very one to finish my collection. Set down that basket at once and put on a warm cloak and hood and follow the banker’s Dorothy, and we’ll go straight to Santa Claus—he’ll be quite horrified to see such a string of grumblers!”
So off once more went Dame Quimp, with Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, the banker’s Dorothy, and the barber’s grandmother, all following behind her, one after another.
They walked and they walked,—over the bridge and past the mill; out beyond the golf-links; up one hill and down another; across ploughed fields, and through narrow woodland paths, till they were all very tired and cold, and the barber’s grandmother, being such an old woman, was quite worn out. Dame Quimp, however, would listen to no complaints, but kept them all strictly in line and hurried them on, until, in a couple of hours’ time, they reached Christmas Town.
They found Santa Claus in his shop busily engaged in tying up delightful-looking parcels in gay paper, with seals and labels, gold and silver cord, scarlet and green ribbons, and sprigs of holly scattered around him in every direction.
“Good day, old friend!” cried Dame Quimp as she entered. “I have done a good morning’s work, as you see—all these are fine, first-class grumblers, and not one of them deserves a Christmas gift. Let me introduce them—here are Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, the banker’s Dorothy, and the barber’s grandmother. Take a good look at them so you will make no mistakes.”