Unit five

                      A miserable and merry Christmas? How could it
         be?

                 A MISERABLE, MERRY CHRISTMAS

           Christmas was coming.  I wanted a pony.  To make sure that my par-
     ents understood, I declared that I wanted nothing else.
           "Nothing but a pony?"my father asked.
           "Nothing, "I said.
  5       "Not even a pair of high boots?"
           That was hard.  I did want boots,  but I stuck to the pony. "No,  not
     even boots . "
         "Nor candy?  There ought to be  something to fill  your  stocking with, 
     and Santa Claus can't put a pony into a stocking. " .
10     That was true, and  he  couldn't  lead a  pony down the chimney either.
     But no. "All  I want  is a pony. "I said. "If  I can't  have a  pony,  give  me 
     nothing, nothing. "
          On Christmas  Eve I  hung  up  my  stocking  along  with  my  sisters' .
          The next  morning  my sisters  and  I  woke up at six.  Then we raced 
15 downstairs to  the  fireplace.  And  there  they were,  the gifts,  all sorts of
     wonderful things, mixed-up piles of presents. Only my stocking was emp-
     ty;  it  hung  Iimp;  not a  thing  in  it;  and  under and around  it -- nothing.
     My sisters had knelt down, each by her pile of gifts; they were crying with
     delight, till they looked up and saw me standing there looking so miserable.
20 They came over to me and felt my stocking: nothing.
           I don't remember whether I cried at  that  moment,  but my sisters did. 
     They ran with  me  back to my bed;  and there  we all criey till I became in 
     dignant. That  helped some.  I got  up,  dressed,  and  driving  my  sisters 
     away, I went out alone into the stable, and there, all by myself, I wept.
25 My mother came out to me and she tried to comfort me. But I wanted no 
     comfort. She left me.and went on into the house with sharp words for my 
     father.
          My sisters. came to me,. and I was rude. I ran away from them. I went 
     around to the front of the house, sat dadown  on the steps, and the crying 
30 over , I ached . I was wronged, I was hurt : And my father must have been
     hurt,  too,  a little I saw him looking out of  the window.  He was watching
     me or something for an hour or two,  drawing back the curtain so little lest
     I catch him, but I saw his  face, and I think I can see now the anxiety upon
     it, the worried impatience.
35       After an hour or two,  I caught sight of  a  man riding a pony down the
     street,  a pony  and a brand--new saddle;  the  most beautiful saddie  I ever 
     saw, and it was a boy's saddle. And the pony ! As he drew near, I saw that 
     the  pony was really a  small  horse,  with  a  black  mane and tail,  and one 
     white  foot  and  a white  star on  his forehead.  For such  a horse  as that I 
40 would have given anything.
           But the man  came  along,  reading  the numbers on the houses, and, as 
     my hopes - my impossible hopes - rose, he looked at our door and passed 
     by,  he and the pony, and the saddle. Too much,  I  fell upon the steps and 
     broke into tears. Suddenly I heard a voice.
45        "Say, kid,"it said, "do you know a boy named Lennie Steffens"
            I looked up. It was the man on the pony, back again. 
           "Yes, "I spluttered through my tears. "That's me. "
           "Well, "he said, "then this is your horse. I've been Iooking all over for 
     you  and  your house.  Why don't  you  put  your number where it can be 
50 seen? "
           "Get down, "I said, running out to him. I wanted to ride. 
           He went on saying something about "ought to have got here at seven 
     o'clock, but --"
     I hardly heard,  I  could scarcely wait.  I  was  so  happy,  so  thrilled.  I 
55 rode off up the street. Such a beautiful pony.  And mine!  After a while I  
     turned and trotted back to the stable. There was the family, father, moth-
     er, sisters, all working for me, all happy. They had been putting .in place 
     the tools of my new business: currycomb, brush, pitchfork - everything, 
     and there was hay in the loft.
           But that Christmas, which my father had planned so carefully, was it 
60 the best or the worst I ever knew? He often asked me that ; I never could 
     answer as a boy.  I  think now that it was both.  It covered the whole dis-
     tance  from broken--hearted misery to bursting  happiness -- too fast.  A 
     grown-up could hardly have stood it.

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