ren's feet, and as I did
so, felt myself a bungler past pardon. But in the act of turning, I
cast a look back at the stage: and there stood Mr Felix, nodding
approval and beckoning. So, as in a dream, I went back, 'Capital!'
was his only comment. Taking my bag, he passed his cloak over it
again, and again handed it to me, stuffed to the brim.

Thrice I returned to him; but the third refill was a scanty one,
since by this time there lacked but half a score of the taller
children to be satisfied. To these, too, I distributed their gifts,
and when every eager pair of hands had been laden, I wheeled about
for the next word of command.

But Mr Felix had skipped down from the stage, letting the curtain
fall behind him. He stood with his back to me, waving both arms to
the orchestra; and as the musicians plunged at the opening bars of
the Toy Symphony, the curtain rose, almost as soon as it had dropped;
and rose upon a scene representing a street with shops decked for
Christmas, and snow upon their eaves and window ledges.

Then, still to the strains of the Toy Symphony, a Harlequin ran in,
with a Columbine, whom he twisted upon his bent knee, and tossed
lightly through the upper window of a baker's shop, himself diving a
moment later, with a slap of his wand, through the flap of the
fishmonger's door, hard by. Next, as on a frozen slide, came the
Clown, with red-hot poker, the Pantaloon tripping over his stick, and
two Constables wreathed in strings of sausages. The Clown boxed the
Pantaloon's ears; the Pantaloon passed on the buffet to the
Constables, and all plunged together into the fishmonger's.
The Clown emerged running with a stolen plaice, passed it into the
hands of the Pantaloon, who followed, and was in turn pursued off the
scene by the Constables: but the fishmonger, issuing last in chase,
ran into the Clown, who caught up a barrel of red herrings and
bonneted him. The fishmonger extricated himself, and the two began
to pelt each other with herrings, while the children screamed with
laughter. . . .

It was a famous harlequinade; and, as usual, it concluded the
entertainment. For after a harlequinade, what can stand between a
child and happy dreams?--especially if he go to them with his arms
full of Christmas presents. Five minutes after the curtain had
fallen I found myself standing beside Mr Felix in the hall, while he
bade good-night to his guests. Carriages of his hiring had arrived
for them, an