Chapter II: Part 2

“On subscription lists--yes! I know you have!” and “Professor” Goblin nodded sagaciously--“I’ve seen your name writ large along with the names of a lot of other bounders who want the world to see how much they’ve given to a hospital! But that’s not charity!”

“Not charity!” echoed Josiah. “Then what is charity?”

“Shall I tell you?” said the Goblin. “You’ve heard, but you’ve forgotten!” And it repeated in a low, almost gentle voice--“‘Charity suffereth long and is kind, charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.’ That’s as unlike _your_ charity, McNason, as Heaven is unlike Hell!”

“Any devil can quote Scripture!” said McNason, contemptuously--“I hear all that in Church!”

“You hear, but you don’t listen,”--said the Goblin--“You go to Church every Sunday?”

“I do! My clergyman relies very much on my assistance.”

“Does he now?” and the Goblin put its head questioningly on one side--“Financial assistance, of course?”

McNason gave a short laugh.

“That’s the only kind of assistance he ever asks for!”

“Good man!” said the Goblin, thoughtfully--“And you help him?”

“Very considerably.” Here McNason drew himself up stiffly with an air of importance--“I’m a Churchwarden.”

At this “Professor” Goblin uttered a frightful yell.

“Hoo-roo, hoo-roo, HOO-ROO!” it cried, “The dear old days! The sweet familiar word!” And springing suddenly into the air, it turned a rapid somersault and came gravely squatting down again--“Oh, Beelzebub, McNason! I was once a Churchwarden!”

Josiah trembled in every limb, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth in sheer panic. The alarming abruptness of his unwelcome visitor’s movements almost paralysed him with terror. Somehow he had thought the Creature might be a kind of fixture to the arm of his chair,--an hallucination of his eye and brain which was likely perhaps to stay in one position,--but its eldritch screech and somersault upset his logic altogether and turned him sick and dizzy.

“I was once a Churchwarden!” said the Goblin, beginning to emit a spluttering laugh from a grimacing mouth--“Oh, hoo-roo! And I looked _so_ respectable! Tell me, McNason!--do you wear a top-hat on Sundays?”

The shuddering millionaire bent his head feebly in assent.

“So did I! So did I!” And the Goblin clasped its toes and hugged itself in a kind of ecstasy--“And a black frock-coat! So nicely brushed! So well-fitting! I had a figure in those days, McNason! And I walked into Church with brightly polished boots, creaking just a little to show they weren’t paid for--because it isn’t ‘gentlemanly’ to pay for what you wear right down on the nail, you know!--and I bent my back before all the people and breathed good little prayers into the crown of my top-hat, just where I could see the name of the hatter printed in gold on the silk lining! I did! Oh, they were happy days! Happy humbug days! Gone, gone, gone! I shall never be a Churchwarden any more!”

Here, unravelling its contorted body, it put its clawlike hands up to its face and began to weep.

“Oh, hoo-roo!” it blubbered--“When I was a Churchwarden people were all so respectful to me! I had a country seat--such as you have, McNason!--and a whole parish bowed down to me! Think of that! Farmers doffed their caps, and farmers’ wives curtsied to me! The clergyman spoke of me as his ‘high-minded and generous neighbour!’ Oh, hoo-roo! I was so proud of myself!--as proud as a Scotch landlord!--and nothing’s prouder than that! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo! Those happy humbug days! I gave myself such airs!--such touch-me-not airs, McNason! I might have been an up-to-date Highland chief in a kilt, my airs were so superior! You know what an up-to-date Highland chief is, McNason?--a man who lets his ‘dear native home,’ and his ‘beloved’ moors and forests for all he can get, and lives a gay life in London on the profits! A proud and pompous creature, McNason!--and I was just such a one! I was really! Talk of patriotism and love of country! I had it all!--I was as parochial as a town clerk! I had such a grand manner!--so stand-offish! And now--and now----” Here it beat a dreary tattoo on its expressive Paunch--“Oh, hoo-roo!--I shall never be a Churchwarden any more!”

A clammy perspiration bedewed Josiah’s brow. That hollow drumming sound was dreadful!--if the horrible Creature would only stop it!----

“Don’t do that!”--he muttered, feebly, “I--I can’t bear it!”

“Can’t bear what?” demanded the Goblin, quite briskly.

“That sound you make on--on----”

“On my Tum-Tum? Oh, Beelzebub! You oughtn’t to mind that! Tum-Tums are what all you men live for nowadays! One of your dramatists has made a play out of a Tum-Tum. Poor old Shakespeare! He was never as clever as that! I always lived for my Tum-Tum--and of course it’s now the largest part of me. I have to tell it everything,--and when I beat it, it knows what I mean!”

Josiah huddled himself back into the depths of his easy chair and closed his eyes,--if he could only swoon away, he thought!--if he could but lose his sight and hearing in a merciful unconsciousness!--

A low snarling murmur, breathing through the casements, under the door, and down the chimney, now gave warning of the fresh and fiercer rising of the wind, and presently down it swooped with a terrific battery of hail, and such a scream and uproar of rage as is seldom heard save in tropical forests, when huge trees fall crashing under the blow of a storm, and torrents hurl themselves headlong from the summits of the mountains sweeping tons of granite with them like straws into the valley below. At that instant the clock began striking Midnight. One!--Two!--Three!--Four!--Five!--and to McNason’s horror the Goblin suddenly sprang upright. If it had looked uncanny before, it looked a thousand times more uncanny now. Poised on the arm of the chair its lean toes and legs began to stretch,--its body to lengthen,--taller and taller it grew, its Paunch showing as prominently and roundly as a full moon on a winter’s night,--its head with its oily hair, conical cap and tassel seemed to be rising steadily into the ceiling, and Josiah, clenching his hands convulsively, watched the process in fearful fascination,--was this the way the awful hallucination would vanish? Was it going?--would the horrible Nightmare elongate itself gradually into fine lines, and, mingling with the atmosphere, disappear altogether?

Six!--Seven!--Eight! The gale rampaged violently outside and shrieked like a drunken fury, battering at the casements as though meaning to break them in. Nine!--Ten!--Eleven!--and lo!--the Goblin all at once pounced down from the height to which it had ascended, and laid its detestable claw on the shuddering McNason’s shirt-front! Twelve! With a wild whistling yell, the storm burst open the long latticed windows at last, throwing them back with a savage BANG!--blowing aside the splendid damask curtains as though they were rags, and admitting a gust of bitter cold sleet and snow, while clear on the rushing blast came the sound of bells! Ding--dong!--ding!--dong! Do re mi--FA!--Sol la--si--DO! The rhythmic beat and liquid warble of rich tones melted into the wind and rain like a kind familiar voice arguing with angry children,--but Josiah McNason, half dead with fear at the sight of the hairy claw on his shirt-front and the knowledge that the red moon-like Paunch of the Goblin was almost touching his own shrunken one, heard nothing save the howling of the furious gale, and wondered how long this inexplicable torture of his body and brain would last!

“Christmas Day!” cried the Goblin,--“It’s Christmas Day, McNason! Hark to the bells! How they swing! How they ring! Come to church, McNason! It’s time! Come along!” And the round eyes glowed like balls of flame--“Come to Church! Come and sing ‘While Shepherds!’ You’re a Churchwarden, you know! Come along--come!”

“Not now--not now!” gasped the terrified Josiah, seeing that the Goblin was spreading out its long lean arms as though to envelop him in its embrace--“It’s not time!--it’s the middle of the night!----”

“No, no!--it’s Christmas Day!” reiterated the Goblin; “Come to Church, McNason! Come and hear my friend the Reverend Mr. Firebrand hold forth on the vanity of riches! Come in the spirit of One Timothy Two! That’s a text! ‘Grace, mercy, peace!’ Come along, McNason! All are welcome where _we_ are going! Hark! How the bells ring! One Timothy Two! One Timothy Two! Come and ‘sit under’ good Mr. Firebrand! Come!--come!”

And with a terrible downward clutch, the Goblin caught hold of McNason by the coat-collar.

“Mercy----mercy!” cried the wretched man--“Help!--Help!”

“Help!--help!” shouted the Goblin, derisively--“One Timothy Two! Come along, McNason! Come along!”

Catching up Josiah as easily as though he were a wooden mannikin, the Goblin unfurled a pair of bat-like wings and rose aloft in air.

“Here we go!” it yelled--“Up we go, and down we go! Off to Church! ME and the Churchwarden! Oh, hoo-roo, hoo-roo! Christmas Day and Christmas Bells, and a jolly Christmas altogether! One Timothy Two! Off we go!”

And with the rush and roar of the wind, the Goblin carrying the world-renowned millionaire as a bird of prey might carry a rabbit or a weasel, soared out on a wave of mingled sleet and snow into the stormy night!

* * * * *

What happened to him in that wild supernatural scurry through the air Josiah McNason never knew. He lived and was conscious,--conscious of being borne along at a furious rate not knowing whither,--conscious of the freezing cold,--the rain, the wind, that tossed him and his unearthly companion about like dead leaves on its angry breath with a “Hoo-roo!” louder than the cry peculiar to the Goblin itself,--conscious above all of the bells! O the Bells! How they trilled and trolled out their Christmas melody!--how they seemed to tumble one over the other in their haste to proclaim “Peace and Goodwill!”--how their metal throats palpitated and throbbed with the angelic message!--angelic still,--angelic always!--even though some mortals nowadays are so miserably-minded as to doubt its truth and sweetness! The Bells rang everywhere!--loudly to the scudding clouds,--softly to the darkened earth,--whisperingly among the chill showers of sleet and snow, and with an echoing clang like musical thunder above and around the shadowy drifting form of the Goblin as it flew along, gripping the quivering Josiah as a cat might grip a mouse, or an eagle a new-born lamb. All at once the rattle and rush of the warring elements rolled off in a pause of quietude, letting the Bells have it all their own way,--and--suddenly descending with lightning-like rapidity by sheer force of the Goblin’s imperative downward pressure, Josiah found himself standing on his feet in the middle of a vast building which looked like a Church, though there was no sacred emblem of religion to be seen anywhere in it save the Pulpit. The Pulpit stood out with singular obtrusiveness, for it was green,--a livid, wicked green like the glare of a serpent’s eye. Panels of white appeared to be inserted round it, but these could not be plainly discerned, at once. The green hue was its chief note of attraction, and McNason’s eyes fastened themselves upon this with a pertinacity surely inspired by some other influence than his own. Breathless, shivering and exhausted as he was, there was something about that Green Pulpit which, wholly against his will, compelled his attention,--and as he looked, he heard a sudden confused murmur of voices which, beginning softly at first, grew louder and louder till it rose into a perfect pandemonium of howling! The unhappy millionaire trembled. What new and nameless horror was there yet in store for him? Involuntarily he turned to look for the Goblin,--even _that_ uncanny Presence seemed kinder and more friendly than such a dreadful uproar of unknown tongues! And he was actually glad to see it still standing beside him, its round eyes sparkling with a strange light of mingled mirth and malice.

“Well, McNason, how do you feel after your airship voyage?” it inquired--“A bit air-sick?”

Here the howling voices grew fiercer and more shrill,--and yet the alarmed Josiah could see nothing. He felt desperately inclined to take hold of the Goblin’s claw for protection.

“What--what’s that?” he stammered.

“Only Church!” replied the Goblin--“Firebrand is a strong preacher! He ‘draws’ like a magnet--or a dentist. There’s always a crowded congregation to hear him.”

Church!--a strong preacher!--a crowded congregation! McNason stared and stared, seeing nothing but the Green Pulpit and empty space, till all at once the Goblin took off its conical cap and with the tasselled point of that headgear touched his eyes. Then--then--oh, then! But who can describe that “then”! Who in mere words can picture the amazing scene disclosed of which he, Josiah McNason, was a part, and to which he seemed to be the only human witness! All round him, in front of him and behind him were Goblins,--Goblins big, Goblins little, Goblins fat, Goblins lean, Goblins straight, Goblins crooked--Goblins of every imaginable size and shape--Goblins of every possible distortion or monstrosity that ever appeared on the pages of a child’s fairy book, were here in their scores, and all attired in the queerest motley. Some wore women’s enormous hats trimmed with fantastic bows of ribbon and big waggling plumes,--others had coloured caps like those which are put into very cheap Christmas crackers,--some were decked out with flashy tiaras and crowns that looked as if they were cut out of tin-foil,--others again had their strange sticky hair dressed as high as surely an hair, sticky or otherwise, could go, and surmounted with fantastic wreaths and garlands of bright coloured flowers apparently made of paper, under which they minced and grinned like female gymnasts at a rough country fair,--and all of them were jostling, pushing, squeezing, and crowding together, each one taking a seemingly mischievous delight in trying to elbow its neighbour out of place. It was a fearsome sight!--and still more fearsome did it become when a great ball of fire suddenly bounced down from Nowhere and burst with a loud report at the foot of the Green Pulpit, where, spreading out a peacock’s tail of vivid flame, it lit up the wicked livid colour of that edifice with blinding brilliancy. Josiah McNason’s soul froze within him. He was dead, he thought!--he must be dead!

In a swooning access of speechless terror he clung to the Goblin, and was in a vague way comforted when it tucked its hairy arm through his and leered at him quite amicably.

“Don’t be nervous, McNason!” it said, “It’s all right! Firebrand always likes the electricity turned on when he preaches! He’s the ‘star’ actor of the piece, you see,--the light must show him up more than anyone else. There he is!”

Josiah gazed at the Green Pulpit in quaking awe and aversion as a black figure suddenly sprang up in it like a jack-in-the-box,--a tall, lanky, clothes-prop sort of shape, with a head like a large mop, from which the hair, of a fiery red, hung down in disordered tangles. This Goblin’s best feature consisted in its attire, which was of a double-dyed inkiness, with a wonderfully smooth and silky ‘shine’ upon it, suggestive of black-lead. It was an unfortunate costume, however, so far as concerned its becomingness to the face of its wearer,--a face white as a bleached bone, with prominent eyes which appeared to goggle out of their cavernous sockets like pebbles rolling each on the edge of a hole,--and the sable clothing of the creature only intensified the awful pallor of its countenance, and brought out its worst points into the strongest possible relief. McNason had barely time to notice these details, which seemed to be insistently forced upon his attention, when his ears were again assailed by renewed howling and screeching, accompanied by a tremendous sound of drums, as if all the drummers that were ever born were drumming their way through the world. Every Goblin had a protuberant paunch,--and as “the Reverend Mr. Firebrand” arose in the pulpit they all started together beating a prolonged tattoo upon these appendages to their otherwise skeleton forms. And ever over the frightful noise rang the Bells!--always the Bells!--the Bells of Christmas,--the Bells of peace and goodwill! Do, re, mi, FA!--Sol, la, si--DO! Ding-dong!--ding-dong! Swinging and swaying, the echoes rose and fell--and in the midst of the pulsating chimes, the Goblins burst into a chorus of wild shouting--

“Firebrand!--Ha ha!”

“Good old Firebrand!”

“Order, order! Silence for Firebrand!”

“Ha-ha, HA! Ha-HA!”

“Firebrand! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”

And then--as though they had been all clashed together by one stroke into silence--the Bells ceased. The shouting and laughter and Paunch-drumming of the Goblins likewise eddied away into a dull murmur--and the Goblin in the Green Pulpit raised a skeleton hand with the first-finger-bone elevated as a signal for attention.

“My friends!” it began--“My dear brethren----!”

“Ha-HA! Ha-ha-HA!”

And the crowd of uncanny creatures twisted and writhed with ecstasy, tossing their queerly decorated heads about, and spreading their wide mouths into elastic grins which seemed to swallow up all the rest of their faces. As if in sympathy with the general hilarity, the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” grinned also--a peculiar and very ghastly grin indeed.

“My friends!” he or It resumed--“How good it is for us all to be here! What a sign of regeneration----!”

“Ha-ha-HA!”

“Of penitence----”

“Ha-ha!”

“Of unselfishness and charity----”

“Ha-ha-ha!”

“Of hope for the future----”

“Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”

“Of everything beautiful, pleasant, and truthful! Oh, how good it is to know that we are thus assembled together, and that we have among us a Human Creature, unlike, yet so like ourselves! Oh, my dear friends! ‘Lest we forget,’ let us remember that we were all Humans once! All Humans!--all Humbugs!--and such respectable Humbugs too! Oh, my friends, let us turn our thoughts back along the tide of Time--the tide of Time is such a fine expression!--and reflect on those days--the days of frock-coats and top-hats! The days when we were GOOD!”

“Ha-ha-HA! Hoo-roo! Hoo-roo!”

Screams of laughter echoed through the dim space, where now, faintly discernible through a floating red vapour, the trembling Josiah caught sight of the glittering tubes of a great organ, and scarcely had he seen this when CRASH!--went the keys with a droning and discordant thunder. A hideous black scarecrow of a Goblin, waving its paws or claws about fantastically, began performing on the instrument, whereat all the impish congregation burst out yelling in chorus:

“When WE were ‘good,’ in all the world
None were so ‘good’ as WE;
WE thought OURSELVES the only ones
Whose souls would savèd BE!--
When WE were ‘good’ our neighbours all
We found so very BAD,
That only US, and only WE
Some little Morals HAD!

“When WE were ‘good,’ we went to Church,
That every one might see
How ‘good’ we were,--much better far
Than other folks could be!--
We slandered all our dearest friends,
Told all the lies we could,
And chose our own front seats in Heaven,
Because we were so ‘good’!

“And now we find that other folks
Whom we thought very BAD,
Were better than OURSELVES at best,
And ALL the Morals HAD!
And sad to say, we’ve lived to learn,
That shuffle as we would,
No HUMBUG lasts in Heaven or Hell
Not even--‘BEING GOOD’!”

Renewed yelping, and “hoo-roos” of diabolical laughter followed this vocal effort, and the miserable Josiah McNason felt cold trickles of perspiration running down his back as he listened. Yet he could not speak. Speech for the moment was taken from him,--he tried to utter some word--some ejaculation,--but his tongue was stiffened in his mouth as though it were paralysed. And he was forced to pay close attention to the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” whether he liked it or not.

“Oh my friends!” pursued that grim and ghastly preacher--“How I thank you for that beautiful hymn! How sweetly it expresses our innermost feelings! Does it not, my friends? Oh yes, indeed it does! And our brother here--our Human brother--does it not express _his_ feelings likewise? Yes--oh yes!--indeed it does!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!” shrieked the Goblins--“Indeed it does! Ha-HA!”

“Our Human brother,” went on “Mr. Firebrand”--“is a ‘good’ man----”

“Hoo-oo! Hoo-roo!--Hoo--oo!”

“A ‘good’ man because, my friends, he has made Money! Money is Morals,--Morals are Money! Our Human brother is a rich man,--therefore virtuous. Virtue, as you all know, consists in being rich,--Vice in being poor. Our Human brother is also a wise man. Wisdom consists in looking after Number One. He does that! He has always done it admirably! Number One is to him the centre of the universe. And we sympathise with him, do we not, my friends? Oh yes, oh yes, we do! For we also, in former days--we also looked after Number One. Not One Timothy Two! No--no! One Self One! That was our text in life. And we acted up to it, did we not, my friends? Oh yes, we did--we did! We should not be here now if we had not looked after Number One!”

“Hoo-roo!--oh--oh--Hoo-roo!”

And the wild cry had a dismal note in it this time like the shriek of the wailing wind.

“Again, my friends,”--went on the Goblin “Firebrand,”--“Our Human brother is a charitable man. We all know what charity is, do we not? Oh yes, we do! Charity begins at home! Charity never gives a penny away unless it can get something for itself out of the bargain! Charity never subscribes to anything unless it can see its name printed on a subscription list! That’s Charity, my friends!--as WE understand it--as our Human brother understands it! The Charity which distinguished US when we,--like our Human brother,--wore frock-coats and top-hats on Sundays, was a charity which suffered nothing and was never kind,--envied everybody,--vaunted itself greatly,--was always puffed up,--often behaved itself unseemly,--sought its own,--was easily provoked,--thought evil of most things,--rejoiced in iniquity,--hated the truth,--bore nothing,--believed nothing,--hoped nothing,--endured nothing! This is the Charity of Human Nature--material Human Nature!--and our Human brother is a glorious living example of it! Soon--oh yes!--very soon!--our charitable Human brother will give twenty thousand pounds to a hospital. How generous! How noble! The poor and sick will benefit,--but our Human brother will not be left out in the cold! Oh no! He will buy a Peerage with the money and also with an additional ‘little diplomacy.’ And he will be a lord!--oh my brethren, how great a thing it is to be a lord! Do we not know this? Yes, indeed, indeed we do! Some of us have been lords, and some of us have been commons. Both sets have their advantages. But when one is a lord, one can do so much! One can become the ‘noble’ director of bogus ‘Companies,’ and pocket a fee for attendance at every meeting! And one can owe bills to one’s tailor for an indefinite period! And one can sell one’s self and one’s ‘nobility’ to any American female title-hunter who will pay sufficient cash down! Oh yes, my brethren, it is a great thing to be a lord! And when our Human brother is a lord, he will be so proud and glad that he won’t know himself! He is a good man now, but when he becomes a peer, he will be a better one! Oh yes, my friends!--the world and Human Nature generally will find him better, wiser, more generous, more charitable, more everything that is pleasant, beautiful, and truthful! Will it not be so? Yes, indeed it will be so! We know it will be so, for we were all ‘good’ men! I myself was a ‘good’ man--once!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

And like twisting boughs of trees in a storm, the goblins swayed and rocked themselves to and fro, convulsed with laughter.

“I say I was a ‘good’ man!” repeated the demon preacher, leaning down over the edge of the green pulpit, and rolling its goggle eyes at its audience, particularly at the shuddering McNason--“Good in the sense that you and I and our Human brother understand goodness! I wore a top-hat----”

“Ha-ha!”

“_And_ a frock-coat----”

“Ha-ha!”

“And I went to Church every Sunday----”

“Ha-ha-HA!”

“I took round the collection-plate----”

“Ha-ha!”

“And I always put a sixpence into it myself--never less--never more!”

“Ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!”

“When any poor man asked me to help him, and said he had a large family to keep, I told him he shouldn’t have a large family----”

“Ha-ha-ha!”

“I never sacrificed my own comfort or convenience at any time on any account, and I never parted with a penny I thought it better to keep! I was a most respectable man!”

“Hoo-roo-oo! Hoo-roo!”

“Now, my friends, I will ask you in the spirit of One Timothy Two to consider the interesting subject of my discourse,--our dear Human brother! He, too, is most respectable! He is even more than respectable, for he is a millionaire! And not only a millionaire, but a multi-millionaire! He is all Money! Oh, my friends, how good it is to be all Money! All Money and no Heart! Heart is never respectable--it is always a scoundrel! Always trusting the wrong people, loving the worst sinners, and making a fool of itself in business! Oh yes, my friends, Heart is desperately wicked! But our dear Human brother has none of it. Let us congratulate him! Especially at this time of year,--this dreary, melancholy, grumbling-time--when all the world’s tiresome little children want holiday treats, and all the tradesmen send in their bills,--this wretched, stupid, depressing season when even WE are made uncomfortable----”

“Hoo-oo-oo! Hoo-roo!”

And now the Goblins beat their paunches desperately and instead of laughing, began to weep. One cadaverous-looking creature took off its woman’s hat, large as an extra large lamp-shade, and shed tears into it as though it were a bucket.

“Ah--ee!--ah--ee!” it sobbed--“How I do hate the compliments of the season! I always did! When I was a Human, I always had to tip my butler and my coachman on what they called Boxing Day! They expected it,--the Brutes! Ah--ee!--ah--ee! Such bitter, bitter memories!”

Other wailings and groanings of a similar nature arose in chorus, and even Josiah McNason’s own particular companion goblin moaned and blubbered.

“It _is_ a terrible time!” it whimpered--“A terrible, terrible time! Everybody expects everybody else to give them something! Such a waste and such an expense! Oh, hoo-roo!”

Again Josiah essayed to speak,--but his tongue still refused to utter.

“At this depressing period,” went on the ranting “Firebrand”--“When stupid Humans wished each other to be ‘Merry’ without any cause for merriment, it is a great joy to find so sensible and practical a person as our dear, rich, wise friend Mr. Millionaire McNason among us! Yes, my brethren, it is a great joy! For _he_ never wished anyone a ‘merry’ or even a happy time in his life, and quite right too! He never wanted to be ‘merry’ himself--never felt like it--never looked like it! He is the master of a great Business and has no time for Sentiment. Sentiment is an imbecile quality pertaining to girls, women and fools. And our Human brother is not a fool! Oh dear no! He is living precisely as he wishes to die;--he is making himself into one of US with all possible speed! And how clever that is of him! His only regret is that he will have no use for Money when he becomes a member of our United Empire Club:--and that to be a lord will give him no extra privileges! Otherwise, he is perfectly satisfied with Himself--just as we all used to be perfectly satisfied with Ourselves! And are we not satisfied with ourselves still? Oh yes, my brethren!--oh yes, we are satisfied, because we are compelled to be satisfied! There is no getting out of Our condition! We chose it, We made it, and here We are! And in the spirit of One Timothy Two, we exhort our Human brother to continue in the self righteous way he is going! We beseech him never to be ‘merry,’ never to be kind! We implore him never to either lend or give money to those in need, not even to an old and faithful servant! For old and faithful servants are just as great humbugs as any other class of persons! Moreover gifts are always resented, and kindnesses considered as merely personal advertisements of generosity! Let our Human brother always be as he is now, and so shall he reap the just reward of his labours! The just reward!--the just reward----”

Here the bells suddenly began again, pealing their chimes with a delicious softness as though far, far away.

“Soon, very soon,” continued the “Firebrand,” lifting both its skeleton arms aloft from the enshrouding folds of its black draperies--“for our Human brother the joys of money-making will be no more! Soon, very soon, the demands upon his Purse will cease, and his weary eyes will close for the last time upon the pleasant sun! Soon, very soon, he will hear no more ‘compliments of the season’--nor will he be troubled by the hand-shake of a friend, or the suffering appeal of the sick and needy. Soon, very soon, his ears will be deaf to all entreaties or messages--he will not even hear the message of the Bells! The Bells!”

Here the Goblins all began to jump and dance up and down, up and down,--and turning their hideous faces towards Josiah McNason they bowed and bobbed before him, shouting and shrieking:

“The Bells! The Bells!”

“The message of the Bells!” reiterated the demon orator, waving its bony hands excitedly--“Grace, mercy, peace! One Timothy Two! Soon, very soon, our dear Human brother will be offended by that message no more! Soon--very soon--he will be one of US!”

With a tremendous effort, Josiah suddenly regained his speech.

“Never!” he cried, with extraordinary passion--“Never will I be one of You! Never, so help me God!”

As he spoke, a sudden terrific roar of mingled flame and wind sounded in his ears,--the peacock’s tail of light playing up like foam against the Green Pulpit leaped to an abnormal height, and swallowed up the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” in a twinkling,--then, spreading itself into a rolling stream of fire it swept over the crowd of Goblins and drove them all helter-skelter before it like dead leaves drifting in a hurricane, engulfing them all out of sight save one,--the self-styled “Professor” that still, with its bone of an arm thrust familiarly through McNason’s, remained beside him as it were “on guard.” The Green Pulpit vanished, and nothing remained of the whole shadowy building that had seemed to be a Church, save the great organ, where now instead of a Goblin, sat a boy acolyte dressed in a little white surplice. Under his tender young fingers the notes breathed tremulously but sweetly, and presently he opened his cherub mouth and sang:

“O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands,--serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song!”

Here the anthem was taken up by some mighty invisible choir:

“Be ye sure that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us and not We Ourselves----”

And all at once a white cloud filled the near and distant spaces like the rushing-in of a wave, and on this opaque pearly vapour came floating a great number of dazzling Angelic Shapes, wonderfully fair, gloriously beautiful, carrying palms in their uplifted hands and singing:

“Glory! Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace and goodwill! Glory to God!”

Stricken with a great awe, Josiah McNason looked and listened. He trembled violently. Should he kneel? He wondered! He had often _pretended_ to kneel in Church--though he had really only bent his back slightly for convention’s sake, but now----?

Before he could make up his mind one way or the other the Goblin’s clutch descended once more upon his coat-collar.

“Come along, McNason!” it whispered, “We must go now! We’re not wanted here! Come!”

“Oh! Leave me alone, for Heaven’s sake!” muttered Josiah pleadingly--“Let me stay here! Why take me away?”

“Why? Because they’re beginning to keep Christmas! We don’t believe in Christmas, do we? We say ‘Curse Christmas’ don’t we? Of course we do! Come along! _You’re_ not wanted and _I’m_ not wanted! One Timothy Two! Off we go!”

* * * * *

Another terrible rush and hurry-scurry through unknown heights and depths of the stormy air, and then with a sudden swoop and pounce, the Goblin dumped Josiah McNason down outside the garden gate of a pretty cottage in a quiet country lane. Here, as if by magic, the sky cleared to a bright blue, and the sun shone out brilliantly. Birds began to sing, and the scent of a thousand flowers perfumed every light breath of wind.

“A little bit of sunshine, McNason!” whispered the Goblin--“It’s winter time for a good many Humans in many places, but it’s always summer here. It’s what WE call a ‘spiritual’ climate,--not affected by outside conditions!”

The suffering millionaire, breathless, exhausted and conscious of a great aching pain at his heart, gazed at the peaceful scene before him in silence. It was a very little garden upon which he looked,--a mere tea-cup of a garden,--but full to the brim of the sweetest blossom. The cottage to which the garden belonged was likewise very small, but it had a deep and cosy porch, up which the loveliest jessamine clambered and threw out tufts of odorous white spray. Red roses thrust their warm glowing faces through the masses of snowy bloom, and, twining in friendly garlands, showered their velvety petals at the feet of a fair woman who sat just within the porch, with her arms thrown round a sturdy boy of some nine or ten years old. She was well worth the homage of the roses--for she was very sweet to look upon,--fresh-complexioned as the bloom on a peach,--soft-eyed,--full-bosomed, and of an aspect expressing the serenest peace, love and tenderness.

“Once upon a time!” she said.

“Oh, mother!” cried the boy she clasped, “That’s the old way of telling a story! Try some other way!”

She laughed.

“Darling, there’s no other way! Everything was ‘once upon a time’ wasn’t it?” The little fellow looked up at her seriously.

“No, I don’t think so! You could never say you were my mother ‘once upon a time,’ could you? You are my mother always!”

“Always!” she murmured--“That’s very true, little man! Your mother always!”--and her lips moved silently--“On earth, and, please God, in Heaven!”

Josiah McNason, peering over the garden gate, now tried to open it, but found it inflexibly closed against him. He heaved an involuntary sigh. The Goblin echoed the sigh derisively.

“Heigh-ho, Beelzebub!” it said--“Good-looking woman, eh, McNason? And a pretty boy! That’s her youngest. She’s got three sons and a lovely daughter. Feel a bit envious, McNason? Don’t you wish you hadn’t jilted her?”

Josiah started. A sense of fear and shame began to tingle through his long-chilled blood.

“She is--she----?” he faltered.

“Exactly! That’s it!” said the Goblin. “She--she IS! The girl whose first affections you won and threw over! That was a nasty trick of yours, McNason! You did it for Money--yes!--you’ve always done everything for Money! But the girl deserved a better fate than either YOU or your MONEY!--and she’s got it! There she is--a beloved woman, wife, and mother. Just as pretty as you’re plain! She’s poor and you’re rich. But she’s contented and you’re wretched! She has three sons--all clever bright boys,--and you haven’t an heir to your name! You treated her like a CAD,--and she has married a MAN! He hasn’t millions, but he has Heart. Heart is a curious thing, McNason! You don’t know what it is, but it’s really a curious thing! It makes Happiness,--and you don’t know what _that_ is either!”

McNason listened dreamily. All desire to resent or deny the Goblin’s accusations had died out of him. He looked yearningly over that barred garden gate as an unforgiven sinner might look at the closed doors of Paradise. So that beautiful woman with the golden-haired boy was Lilias? Lilias was her name, he remembered;--he had called her familiarly by it in the old days,--days which he recalled now with a sense of imminent desolation. Lilias had married and was happy. Did her happiness please him? No, he could not say it did. A bitter jealousy burnt in his soul,--a wrathful impatience with Deity. Why was the future veiled? Why were men left so much in the dark concerning their destinies? How could he ever have guessed that Lilias would have ripened from the timid, pretty, trusting girl he had known, into this gracious, lovely, and loving woman with all the sacred sweetness of home enfolding her as securely as a rose is enfolded by the cherishing summer air! And still he looked at her,--and still the bitterness in him grew yet more bitter, and in a kind of impotent anger he shook the garden gate with both his hands, determined to force it open.

“Steady, McNason!” said the Goblin at this juncture--“You’re not master here, you know! Every man’s house is his castle! You want to be a burglar, do you? So like you! I know a lot of fellows who feel that way! When they see a man happier than themselves, with a nice wife belonging to him, they try to steal the wife away and make him wretched! It’s a fashionable pastime with them, and they call it ‘Souls!’ Oh, Beelzebub! When they find out what Souls really _are_, won’t they be sorry for themselves! Come along, McNason!”

But Josiah clung to the garden gate.

“Lilias! Lilias!” he called.

But Lilias, laughing, was playing with her boy’s curls, and neither turned her head nor raised her eyes. The Goblin chuckled.

“Think she can hear you, do you?” it inquired mockingly--“Oh--hoo-roo!--what a fool you are, McNason! She is as far away from you as you are from her--and that’s a pretty long distance, I can tell you! You’re out in the storm and wind--she’s in the full sunshine! As I told you, she enjoys a ‘spiritual’ climate--supernatural weather! But you don’t believe in the supernatural, do you, McNason? Of course not! Why should you! You don’t believe in anybody but yourself! Not even in Me! Oh Beelzebub! Come along, come along!”

“Where to?” cried the miserable man, “Where in the name of Heaven do you want to take me next?”

“You shouldn’t talk about Heaven,”--said the Goblin, severely--“That’s a ‘supernatural’ place. I don’t want to take you _there_, you may be sure! It wouldn’t suit you at all! Nor me! Come along, come along! Don’t hanker any more after what you have lost and can never find again! Sentiment is Stupidity--Money is Wisdom! Think of that! It makes you one of the wisest men on earth! Come! I’ve got another old friend waiting to see you--urgent appointment! Come along, I tell you!” And the Goblin made a vicious grab at McNason’s coat-collar. “Don’t _yearn_ like that! You’re too old to play Romeo, and ever so much too ugly! Hoo-roo-oo-oo! One Timothy Two!--and away we go!”

* * * * *

Out into the storm again on the wings of the bitter winter wind! All the sunshine of the “spiritual” climate vanished, and a great panorama of dark clouds moved rapidly through the freezing air. Clouds everywhere!--clouds of fantastic form and giant shape,--clouds like rocky fortresses set on the summits of high mountains,--clouds resembling huge ruminative animals wallowing in ether,--clouds heavy and threatening, suggesting pent-up thunder and jagged flame! Like a couple of midges the Goblin and its human victim were tossed from edge to edge of the thick rolling vapours, and when they descended to earth once more, Josiah McNason found himself in the small “best parlour” of an unpretentious residence,--one in a row of similar dwellings in an unpretentious street.

“Keep your eyes open, McNason!” said the Goblin--“And your ears! Nobody sees YOU, you know, or ME! We’re invisible. And if you want to curse and swear, do so by all means! Nobody hears, and nobody cares!”

Josiah looked, and saw before him a man reclining in an invalid chair near a small bright fire, his eyes fixed on the sparkling flames with a patient and wistful sadness. A pale, sweet-faced woman with soft brown hair somewhat silvered, knelt by him, clasping one of his hands tenderly in her own. There were traces of tears on her worn thin cheeks, and her lips quivered. And standing close by, with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, and eyes bent compassionately down upon the pair, was another man whom McNason had no difficulty in recognising as his overseer, Mr. Pitt. Yet his surprise at this was so great that he could not forbear an exclamation.

“Pitt here! How the devil----!”

“Exactly!” said the Goblin--“How the devil and why the devil! Only the devil knows!”

Josiah groaned, and then the overpowering dumbness that had seized him before caught him again in its paralysing power. Stricken mute himself, he was nevertheless forced to listen with the closest attention to all that passed around him. And when Pitt spoke, the sound of that equable familiar voice sent a new and violent shock through his already racked nervous system.

“Mr. McNason is a man of iron,”--said Pitt--“There’s no doubt about it! In fact he’s harder than any metal, for metal can be made to melt, and he can’t!”

The man in the invalid chair moved restlessly.

“Did he remember me at all?--did you remind him?--” he murmured.

“Yes, Willie, I did! I even recalled the days when you used to carry his little son on your shoulder round to see the works--and I said, ‘Dove was one of the smartest men in your employ, and brought valuable custom to the firm.’ But it was all no use--no use!” He paused and then addressed himself gently to the woman who knelt by her husband’s side. “I am sure, Mrs. Dove, you believe that I have done my best?”

“Indeed, indeed, I know you have!” she answered earnestly--“And,--after all--I never had much hope. Mr. McNason must have endless claims upon his purse--and memory! It is so seldom one finds a very very rich man who cares to help little outside troubles like ours--” Here her voice trembled dangerously, and she ceased.

Willie Dove sighed a little wearily.

“Ah well!” he said--“I did my best for him in my day! And I thought he might possibly be disposed to do me a good turn now. It’s true I haven’t so many years before me, but I’ve got some working power left if I could only get well----”

“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Will!” said his wife piteously. “You could, of course, go to the Hospital and doctors would attend to you there--but oh! I couldn’t bear it!--I couldn’t bear it!” And here her self-control gave way, and she began to sob--“I couldn’t bear to see you taken away from me after all the years we have spent so happily together! I couldn’t bear to think of you ill, and in a place where I could only get at you at stated times, with strangers always about you! It is very foolish of me and perhaps very wrong--but I--I cannot help it!”

Her husband stroked her bent head with his thin delicate hand.

“Don’t cry, Jennie!” he said softly--“I won’t go away from you! I’d rather die!”

Mr. Pitt coughed obstreperously.

“Look here, Dove,” he said--“Don’t let us be miserable on Christmas Eve! I left McNason himself looking as wretched as a plucked crow. Poor old chap! With all his money, I wouldn’t be in his shoes for the world! Tell me, what did the doctor say when he saw you to-day?”

“About the same as he has always said,” replied Dove, resignedly--“That an operation would not only relieve, but cure me, and that he should like to perform it here in my own house, and get a good surgical nurse to attend upon me, with my wife’s assistance. For my wife is a capital nurse, aren’t you, Jennie?” He caressed the bent head again and went on--“He thinks me of too nervous a temperament to do well away from home.”

There followed a silence. Presently Pitt spoke again in determined accents.

“I tell you what it is, Dove,” he said, “_I’ll_ lend you the money!”

Dove started.

“_You_, Mr. Pitt?”

“Yes, I!” and Pitt, smiling, drew himself up with an air of resolution--“I can’t afford it a bit--but I’ll risk it! I’ll risk it because--well!--because it’s Christmas-time!--Now don’t try to get up!” for Dove raising himself in his chair with some difficulty, caught at Pitt’s hand and grasped it hard, while tears stood in his eyes. “And don’t thank me, because I can’t bear to be thanked! It’s Christmas-time, as I’ve said--and I’ve always had ‘old-fashioned’ ideas of Christmas. My mother taught them to me--God bless her!--I think”--and his voice sank a little--“that perhaps we ought to spare a little ‘gold, frankincense and myrrh’ just at this season--and this loan to you will be my thank-offering--though it’s a poor thing at best, for you see I can’t _give_ you the money, Willie! McNason could have given it and never have missed it, but I can’t. I wish I could! However, if you’ll take the will for the deed----”

And now Mrs. Dove, rising gently from her knees, came up to him and laid her hand on his arm.

“God bless you, Mr. Pitt!” she said, in clear sweet tones--“He _will_ bless you!--be sure of that! What you lend to us is more than given, because you have such a friendly sympathy with us, and sympathy is greater than gold! I will not even try to thank you----”

“No, don’t!” interrupted Pitt, hastily, pressing her hand hard--“It’s--it’s all right! Dove and I will arrange our business matters, and I’ll see the doctor to-morrow, even though it _is_ Christmas Day!”

“I’ll pay it all back!” said Dove, excitedly--“I can work well still--I’ve got all my wits about me--and I have a fine offer from a firm to undertake some affairs for them immediately if I can only pull up my strength. And I think I shall manage--now!”

Pitt here drew a chair to the fire opposite the sick man and sat down.

“It’s a curious thing,”--he said--“how the possession of enormous wealth hardens some people, and makes them not only difficult to deal with, but often positively cruel to themselves and to others! Now if one is to judge by outward looks, Mr. McNason, though a multi-millionaire, is just about one of the most miserable men alive!”

The Goblin chuckled, and gave Josiah a nudge with its sharp elbow.

“Hear that, McNason!” it said--“It’ll do you good to learn what other folks think of you!”

“So old, so feeble and so lonely!” went on Mr. Pitt, almost pathetically--“When he refused to do anything for your assistance, Dove, I was inclined to be very plain-spoken and give him a bit of my mind, even at the risk of offending him,--but seeing what a forlorn old wreck he seemed, with his shrivelled body and wrinkled face, I thought it was no use being angry with him,--especially at Christmas-time! He’s not long for this world!”

Again the Goblin nudged Josiah’s arm and its fiery eyes glowed with railway-signal brilliancy.

“It’s not exactly age that will kill him,”--went on Pitt, meditatively--“He’s not seventy yet, and ought to look much healthier and stronger than he does. My father is eighty-two, and is as well set-up a veteran as anyone could wish to see--walks his six miles a day, and is as young in heart as a boy--but of course he has always lived a very simple life and never hankered after more money than just as much as would keep him going and save him from debt. Mr. McNason has all the cares of an immense business on his brain--and naturally a break-down must come sooner or later----”

He ceased. A gust of wind roared down the chimney, throwing the flames of the little fire crookedly to and fro. Mrs. Dove shivered, and looked about her uneasily.

“What a stormy night!” she said--“Not at all a peaceful Christmas!”

Her husband, lying restfully back in his chair, smiled at her.

“The peace must be in our hearts, Jennie!” he said--“If we don’t keep Christmas _there_, it’s no Christmas at all! Storm or calm, it’s a blessed time!--a time of thanksgiving--a time of hope!”

“So it is,”--agreed Pitt--“and so may it always be! Now, Mrs. Dove, bring out a bottle of that old port your good doctor sent you the other day, and we’ll drink to Willie’s recovery and health and general usefulness! And we’ll wish old McNason a Merry Christmas, too!”

They all laughed, and Mrs. Dove set the wine and glasses on the table. Mr. Pitt poured out the ruby-red cordial, and raising his own glass to his lips said:

“A Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Dove! A Merry Christmas to you, Willie! And to our grim and gaunt old governor, Mr. McNason, a Merry Christmas also! And may he find something better than riches in the next world and be all the happier for the finding!”

They all three drank this toast, and while they drank, Josiah McNason trembled in every limb with an ague of exceeding cold. Was he so near death, he wondered, that even Pitt could see the near approach of his end? He turned his miserable eyes upon the Goblin, who grinned.

“Brother ‘Firebrand’ was quite right, you see!” it remarked--“Soon, very soon, you will be one of US! WE are your ‘next world,’ you know! And riches don’t count in our United Empire Club--but you’ll be happy, McNason! Oh yes--you’ll be so happy! Because you will have reaped the just reward of your labours, and you will be exactly what you have made of YOURSELF! Nothing could be more satisfactory! Listen! Willie Dove is talking about you now!”

And so he was. Willie Dove was speaking in the kindest and gentlest way possible of the man who had refused to help him in his need.

“Well, I hope Mr. McNason will live many years yet,” he said--“and that he will learn how to enjoy and get the best out of the large fortune he has made. The amount of good he could do if he liked is simply incalculable--and if he would only use some of his money just for the sole purpose of benefiting others, and would not merely put it out like a magnet to draw more money in again, he would be the happiest man alive. For instance, if instead of subscribing large sums to charities which are presided over by ‘committees’ who use up half the money for their own expenses, he would go himself among the poor and personally relieve them at first hand,--if he would try to help those who are, with great difficulty, trying to help themselves,--those who cannot borrow and will not beg,--if he would just put himself out a bit----”

“Ah, that’s just what he won’t do!” interposed Pitt--“He can’t see anything or anybody but Himself--that’s the pity of it!”

“Poor soul!” said Mrs. Dove, gently--“We mustn’t forget that he lost his only son,--a dear little boy!--and that may have embittered him. All _our_ children have been mercifully spared to us, thank God!--but even if one had been taken, I’m sure we should always have been thinking of that one! And his ‘one’ was his all! We must remember that! And however hard he is upon _us_, we mustn’t be hard upon _him_! That wouldn’t be keeping Christmas rightly!”

At this Josiah turned and flung himself desperately against the Goblin’s paunch.

“Take me away!” he muttered, finding his speech with an effort--“Take me out of this! I--I don’t want to stop here! I want to get away--QUICK!”

“‘Coals of fire,’ eh?” said the Goblin--“A trifle scorching, even on a thick skull like yours, McNason! So you’d forgotten Willie Dove, had you? Curious! He was always a very excellent fellow, though, and one of the best men in your employ. The honour of the firm was the first thing with him at all times, and you owe to his hard work and straight principles more than you have the honesty to acknowledge! But it’s no use trying to tip the balance of things, McNason! That balance always rights itself! Good is good, and evil is evil,--you can’t make one out to be the other, however much you try! If you’re spiteful, if you’re mean, if you’re unthankful for the blessings bestowed on you--and more than all, if you refuse to help those who have helped _you_, you are punished! You are, really! And a good sound flogging you get, I can tell you! Oh Beelzebub!--don’t _I_ know this! When I was a Churchwarden----”

“_Will_ you do as I ask you?” implored Josiah, desperately, “Get me out of this! I want to go home!”

“Poor old baby! Wants to go home, does it!” jeered the Goblin--“Oh, but it mustn’t be naughty! It must go where its nursey takes it! Just another little ridey-pidey in its coachy-poachy!” And rising aloft on its skeleton toes, the Goblin grew larger and more threatening of aspect, while its bat-wings, slowly unfurling, seemed spreading out so darkly and interminably that Josiah fell on his knees in terror--“Just another taste of the ‘supernatural,’ McNason! Just another little experience of Hell’s United Empire Club!”

“No, no!” gasped the trembling millionaire--“Let me get home! Give me a chance to--to----”

His voice gurgled away into a faint tremolo.