Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
Gallop, gallop! far away.
Pony and I are going today.
Please get out of our way,
Don't ask us to stay;
We'll both come back
Some sunshiny day.
BABOUSCKA.
If you were a Russian child you would not watch to see Santa
Klaus come down the chimney; but you would stand by the windows
to catch a peep at poor Babouscka as she hurries by.
Who is Babouscka? Is she Santa Klaus' wife?
No, indeed. She is only a poor little crooked wrinkled old
woman, who comes at Christmas time into everybody's house, who
peeps into every cradle, turns back every coverlid, drops a tear
on the baby's white pillow, and goes away very, very sorrowful.
And not only at Christmas time, but through all the cold winter,
and especially in March, when the wind blows loud, and whistles
and howls and dies away like a sigh, the Russian children hear
the rustling step of the Babouscka. She is always in a hurry.
One hears her running fast along the crowded streets and over the
quiet country fields. She seems to be out of breath and tired,
yet she hurries on.
Whom is she trying to overtake?
She scarcely looks at the little children as they press their
rosy faces against the window pane and whisper to each other, "Is
the Babouscka looking for us?"
No, she will not stop; only on Christmas eve will she come
up-stairs into the nursery and give each little one a present.
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