|The Orangeman's Visit (standard:fairy tales, 4387 words)|
|Author: J.A. Aarntzen||Added: Oct 18 2005||Views/Reads: 2820/1488||Story 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.” Click here to read the rest of this story (416 more lines)
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