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The Orangeman's Visit (standard:fairy tales, 4387 words)
Author: J.A. AarntzenAdded: Oct 18 2005Views/Reads: 2820/1488Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Jack O'Lantern visits four young elves at the North Pole.
 



The Orangeman's Visit 

North Pole Nov. 7, 18__ 

My Dear Little Nick, 

I thought that I should write you a letter and tell you of what I have
been doing of late.  I know that you have received notes from Hum, 
Kiddo and Diddo recently.  After all that reading your eyes must be 
burning! 

I guess one of my brothers, if not all of them, have told you about the
honeybees.  What a fiasco!  To lose all of the bees in one fell swoop!  
You would think that after living up North for so long that we would 
know that winter comes early.  If we only had built netted cages around 
those hives we still would have those bees around today.  I was so 
looking forward to having fresh honey on Christmas Day.  Oh well, there 
are other sweet things about at that time of year, as you, of all 
people, should know! 

Two days after the bees decided to become birds and fly south, we had a
most strange visitor come join us at our cozy little cottage upon the 
tundra. 

He had arrived by foot although goodness knows how he was able to cross
all those miles of Arctic snow without the help of dogs, sleigh or 
snowshoe. 

We four elves were sitting at our dinner table about to enjoy one of our
favourite desserts, pumpkin pie, when we heard the knocking at our 
door.  We all looked at each other in bewilderment.  It was rare for us 
to have company at that time of day or even that time of year.  For you 
see, Little Nick, it gets dark very early up here when the winter 
comes.  Perhaps some day you will come here and see in what kind of 
world your four good elfin friends live in. 

When I saw that Hum nor Diddo nor Kiddo was going to answer the door, I
took it upon myself to do so.  When I opened the door, I saw a chubby 
boy standing on the other side.  He was not much older than you, 
Nicholas. 

The skin on his face was flaming red from the damp, bitter, northern
October winds.  On top of this tomato was a shock of orange hair that 
spilled wildly and curly over his forehead.  He wore a thin, orange 
jacket with black vertical stripes.  It clearly was not a coat made for 
the North.  Underneath this jacket, there was a pair of orange trousers 
that also had the black stripes.  Although it was a suit that he 
clearly wore, it clearly was not suited for winter. 

His orange-stained teeth were achatter from the cold.  He said to me,
“Sir, I beg permission to enter your warm abode.”  He did not have to 
say his name for me to realize that he was an Irishman.  I'd recognize 
that accent anywhere but especially I'd recognize it in old Erin. 

I said to him, “Enter my home, friend.  I will put another log on the
fire for I can see that you are very cold.” 

He thanked me cordially and walked toward the woodstove, his red chapped
hands outstretched to gather in the rich warmth.  I saw that he had 
neither gloves nor mittens.  I thought to myself what could drive a 
person to enter the cold lands so ill-prepared for the weather that he 
most assuredly would encounter. 

But that was none of my business.  If it concerned me he would let me
know.  I then realized that I had been negligent of my duties as a 
host. 

I introduced myself to him.  I said “I be Ho.” 

Hum said “I be Hum.” 

Kiddo said “Kiddo.”  Diddo said  “Diddo.” 

He said his name to us.  “O'Lantern.  Jack O'Lantern.” 



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