Chapter Eleven

The Last Stocking

The years passed and Nicholas was now a very rich man even though he shared all he had with his friends in the village. Every Christmas morning the children would wake to find their stockings filled with toys and sweets. The poorer families would also find food... such things as chickens, vegetables and hams and often bundles of clothing would be left on their doorsteps.

But as you would expect, each year he would be a little feebler and the villagers who loved and respected him began to worry. Each Christmas morning as the children excitedly took the gifts from their stockings, the fearful thought in every parent’s heart was “Maybe next Christmas he won’t be with us.”

A few days before one Christmas, a number of villagers called on Nicholas with a suggestion. “We thought Nicholas,” said one man a little hesitantly, “we thought that you must get so cold filling the stockings outside the door, especially when there are five or six in the family, that it would be better if the children left their stockings inside by the fire.”

“Then you could come in and sit by the fire and take your time about it,” added one woman kindly.

Old Nicholas looked up from the work he was doing and smiled. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Ho, ho, ho. Fancy you coming here to tell me how to do my work.” he joked. “Why I remember filling an embroidered bag for you when you were smaller than your own children are now. Then things changed when they started putting out stockings instead of bags and now you want me to change again and leave them inside. Well I suppose I must keep up with the times and if you all think it’s better to have them inside, then inside I will go.”

So from then on Nicholas would quietly creep into the houses on Christmas Eve and sit in front of the fire, slowly filling the stockings. Often the children would leave him a drink and a piece of cake, as they knew that he had a long night of exhausting work.

One Christmas Eve, old Nicholas found it harder than usual to leave each home. The warm fire made him feel drowsy and his old bones ached as he wearily pulled himself up to go. He made slow progress from one house to another until thankfully he arrived at his last stop, his back hurting from carrying his bulky sack, his head drooping with tiredness and his heart heavy as he realised how old he must be. The work he had done with such enthusiasm for so many years was now almost too much for him. He dropped into a chair by the fire with a deep sigh of relief and it was a long time before he recovered enough to start filling the stockings. Even then he did it very slowly and it hurt as he reached down into the bottom of the sack, each time straightening himself with growing difficulty. He finished filling four of the five stockings but with the fifth one still empty in his hand he fell sound asleep.

About an hour later he woke with a start when he felt a hand shaking him.

“Are you alright Nicholas?” asked a worried voice, “I got up to see if the fire had gone out and found you still here. Why it’s nearly dawn.”

Nicholas shook himself then stood up wearily. “Yes, it’s Christmas morning and I haven’t finished my work.”

“Never mind. I’ll finish the last stocking for you.” said the man, “Just leave the presents and go home to bed, but hurry before the children wake up and see you.”

Nicholas, thinking of his warm comfortable bed, handed over the stocking and presents and wearily headed outside.

A few minutes later a little boy in his pyjamas stood in the doorway. “What are you doing daddy?” he asked in a disappointed tone. “I thought it was Nicholas who gave us the toys.”

The child looked ready to cry but his father reassured him, “Your Nicholas is getting old,” he said, “and sometimes we fathers have to help him, but remember, it’s Nicholas who leaves the toys for you.”

“That’s alright then,” said the little fellow. “It isn’t half as much fun if you think it’s your mother or father who leave the gifts.”

“I should say not,” said the father very sternly, “and you must never doubt Nicholas. Why he would be so hurt at a little boy thinking he didn’t fill the stockings that he might never come to his house again. Wouldn’t that be terrible?’

“Yes,” whispered the boy in a frightened voice. “What would Christmas be without Nicholas?”

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