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Updated: May 7, 2025
'But I can't carry you in a sack to the river; you are too heavy for me! If you like to go there yourself and then creep into the sack, I will throw you in with the greatest of pleasure. 'Thank you, said Big Klaus; 'but if I don't get any sea-cattle when I come there, you will have a good hiding, mind! 'Oh, no! Don't be so hard on me! Then they went to the river.
He says it will be more cheerful for him, and though, of course, he's been very kind to me, I think I would rather he went somewhere else. Besides, it is dull for him up there, all by himself I mean, it would be dull for any kind of chintz." "I do think Santa Klaus has got into your head, Marianne!" said Aunt Olga, laughing; but she promised to buy the new curtains.
Look! there is a great hole in her forehead! 'Oh, what a misfortune! cried the host, wringing his hands. 'It all comes from my hot temper! Dear Little Klaus! I will give you a bushel of money, and will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only don't tell about it, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be very uncomfortable.
His tail lashed the sea to foam, a big, pointed head showed up, squirming under the hook. "Now!" cried Peer, and two gaffs struck at the same moment, the boat heeled over, letting in a rush of water, and Klaus, dropping his oars, sprang into the bow, with a cry of "Jesus, save us!"
"Oh dear!" cried Marianne, "I hope you are not hurt? How careless of the Chintz Imp to throw you down like that!" "It was no one's fault but my own," said Santa Klaus as he dusted the remains of soot and plaster off his brown cloak.
Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve?" to which David Morgridge, after taking a pinch of snuff cautiously replied: "It may be;" and then added, as if to explain his uncertainty of mind "I don't keep the run o' Christmas." "Does Santa Klaus really come down a chimney Christmas night and fill the stocking with presents?" proceeded Peter.
"Yes; it's a fine painting, isn't it? I got it for fourpence." "Painting! Ha-ha! that's good! Why, you silly cow, can't you see it's only an oleograph?" "Oh, of course you know all about it. You always do." "I'll take you along one day to the Art Gallery," said Klaus. "Then you can see what a real painting looks like. What's that you've got there English reader?"
He had never seen his face so broken up into smiles and grins. He could hardly believe it was Mr. Morgridge. Nor was it it was Morgridge Klaus. While breakfast was in preparation, Peter climbed up into his watch-tower. Well done! there was a muffler in the chair! precisely like the one which he had seen enter the stocking the night before. How could it have found its way to his seat?
And when he crept into bed, well after midnight, there was only one thing that troubled him his utter loneliness. Klaus Brock lived with his uncle, in a fine house, and went to parties. And he lay here all by himself. If he were to die that very night, there would be hardly a soul to care. So utterly alone he was in a strange and indifferent world.
These men demanded their guns and ammunition to take to their king, and, on Pereira refusing to give them up, said that they would kill them both in the morning after they had made him instruct them in the use of the guns by beating him with sticks. In the night a storm came on, under cover of which Pereira and Klaus escaped.
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