A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Once upon a time - of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve - old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already - it had not been light all day - and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

'A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

'Bah!' said Scrooge, 'Humbug!'

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

'Christmas a humbug, uncle!' said Scrooge's nephew. 'You don't mean that, I am sure?'

'I do,' said Scrooge. 'Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.'

'Come, then,' returned the nephew gaily. 'What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.'

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, 'Bah!' again; and followed it up with 'Humbug!'

'Don't be cross, uncle.' said the nephew.

'What else can I be,' returned the uncle, 'when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in them through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,' said Scrooge indignantly, 'every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!'

'Uncle!' pleaded the nephew.

'Nephew!' returned the uncle, sternly, 'keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.'

'Keep it!' repeated Scrooge's nephew. 'But you don't keep it.'

'Let me leave it alone, then,' said Scrooge. 'Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!'

'There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,' returned the nephew. 'Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that-as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!'

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

'Let me hear another sound from you,' said Scrooge, 'and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You're quite a powerful speaker, sir,' he added, turning to his nephew. 'I wonder you don't go into Parliament.'

'Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow.'

Scrooge said that he would see him-yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.

'But why?' cried Scrooge's nephew. 'Why?'

'Why did you get married?' said Scrooge.

'Because I fell in love.'

'Because you fell in love!' growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. 'Good afternoon!'

'Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?'

'Good afternoon,' said Scrooge.

'I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?'

Good afternoon,' said Scrooge.

'I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!'

'Good afternoon.' said Scrooge.

'And A Happy New Year!'

'Good afternoon!' said Scrooge.

His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greeting of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.

Sacrifice of Love

One cold winter Christmas Eve, there was a family who lived in the slums of Brooklyn. The family lived in an old run down apartment, suitable for rats.

The wife wanted to buy a chain for her husband's damaged watch, but did not have enough money. She was frantic and overwhelmed in panic. She did not know what to do... Her Christmas would be ruined! She thought and though, until she came up with an idea. She decided to sell her hair at the local salon.

She entered the salon and was quickly examined by the stylist. The hair stylist was astonished in not finding damaged or liced hair. The wife and the stylist bargained and bargained. It resulted in the wife receiving $20 for her hair, which was just enough to buy the chain. She looked at herself and saw that she looked hideous, but she did not care and cloaked her head with a shawl.

She quickly searched and purchased the desired chain and left for home. She wrapped the chain in newspaper and sat quietly awaiting her husband's return from work that afternoon.

The husband had returned and entered the house. He said nothing. The wife saw that he had a grin upon his face. After dinner, they sat next to the stove for warmth. The wife then pulled out the gift and gave it to the husband. The husband looked confused, but opened it. He was in tears when he saw the gift, because he had sold his watch to buy a gift for the wife. He pulled out his gift, which was a hair brush for his wife's delicate hair. The wife and husband cried and wept. The love within the family had proven that they would sacrifice anything it took to see happiness upon their partner.

The Doll and A White Rose

I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys. And I wondered if the grand kids would even play with them. I found myself in the doll aisle.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy, about 5, holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman, and he called his aunt by name and said, "Are you sure I don't have enough money?" She replied a bit impatiently,"You know that you don't have enough money for it." The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere, that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle.

The boy continued to hold the doll. After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, "It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would bring it." I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said, "No, Santa can't go where my sister is...I have to give the doll to my Mamma to take to her."I asked him where his sister was. He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "She has gone to be with Jesus. My Daddy says that Mama is going to have to go be with her."My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, "I told my Daddy to tell Mama not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store".

Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he had taken at the front of the store. He said "I want my Mamma to take this with her so she don't ever forget me." "I love my Mama so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me. But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister."

I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet. While he was not looking, I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy, "Shall we count that money one more time?" He grew excited and said, "Yes, I just know it has to be enough". So I slipped my money in with his, and we began to count it. Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, "Thank you, Jesus, for giving me enough money."

Then the boy said "I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll, so Mama can take it with her, to give to my sister. And He heard my prayer." "I wanted to ask Him for enough to buy my Mama a white rose, but I didn't ask Him, but He gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Mama.She loves white roses so very, very much".

In a few minutes the aunt came back, and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier, about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and leaving the Mother in serious condition. The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story. Two days later, I read in the paper where the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy, and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected.

Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home, where the young woman was. And there she was, holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store. I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces.

A Balloon Seller's Story

I AM sorry I am a little late in realizing that a new year has already arrived! Like always my priorities were wrong. In the hallucinations and deliriums I began to celebrate the 26th of January before 1st January at Pusa Road, New Delhi.

Did you ever come across the word ‘Rain basera’? No? It’s not a word from outer-space or from any melody of Indian film. It’s a great gesture of humanity, a solid three dimensional proof that as a society we are not insensitive and irresponsible to the plight of our unlucky fellow creatures. It is a night shelter that the government of Delhi offers to those who have nowhere to go during icy winds when you and me sleep in the cozy warmth of heated houses. It doesn’t matter that despite these facilities not a wintry night passes when a few dreamers and their dreams consign to their logical end while some lucky cadavers find their photographs in the local newspapers under the heading of “unclaimed bodies.”

We have just celebrated one of the most loud and boisterous New Year with “Jai Ho.” Logic tells us that we have every right to celebrate when we have earned to squander by dint of our labour.

I’m a God fearing man and my brain is conditioned by my parents to believe that all misfortunes and troubles are ordained and pre-destined for some mysterious purpose of an all-wise Providence. I don’t think that city fathers would also be averse to my trumpeted thoughts of piety. Naturally, the myrmidons of law have more faith in the auto-corrections of nature. So they felt it fit to pull down the night shelter at Pusa Road for the future beautification of the capital few days before New Year. These officers of MCD had firm faith in God, Bhagwan, Allah, Ram, Wahe Guru and Jesus and knew that Mighty Power would arrange automatically some new cozy refuge for the 250 living beings, who were rendered homeless from that Rain basera.

When the stars were shining in the sky, a balloon-seller Bhima failed in his struggle to live. He was one of the uprooted displaced occupants of Rain basera and could not brave the intense cold.

Crying inconsolably, his mother Saru, and grandmother Girija pointed to a thin blanket that Bhima has wrapped himself up to beat the cold. Bhima had his food and went off to sleep.

However, just as an hour or two later when Girija tried to wake him up, she found he was dead. “He had returned a happy man on the night of December 31 earning over Rs 300 by selling balloons but he didn’t wake up to see the dawn of a New Year,” said Saru. Her unsold balloons had burst by Friday afternoon and hopelessly clung to the branches of a tree. His uncle, Hanumanta, told the reporter: “Who itna khush tha ke sath wale hotel se aa rahi gane ki awaz par nach raha tha. (He was so happy that he was dancing to the tunes of a song being played in a nearby hotel.) He wanted to give some money to his mother and grandmother.” On Friday morning, they cremated Bhima’s body.

Now please don’t ask or tell these innocent MCD officers or city fathers about this incident because it might spoil their breakfast as it had done for me or you. Please ask God why did He allow the Rain basera at Pusa Road to be demolished without any alternate arrangement? As for Bhima and his family, it was their lot! Jai Ho!

Little Match-Seller

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.

The doll's christmas party

It was the week before Christmas, and the dolls In the toy-shop played together all night. The biggest one was from Paris.

One night she said, "We ought to have a party before Santa Claus carries us away to the little girls. I can dance, and I will show you how."

"I can dance myself if you will pull the string," said a "Jim Crow" doll.

"What shall we have for supper?" piped a little boy-doll in a Jersey suit. He was always thinking about eating.

"Oh, dear," cried the French lady, "I don't know what we shall do for supper!"

"I can get the supper," added a big rag doll. The other dolls had never liked her very well, but they thanked her now. She had taken lessons at a cooking-school, and knew how to make cake and candy. She gave French names to everything she made, and this made it taste better. Old Mother Hubbard was there, and she said the rag doll did not know how to cook anything.

They danced in one of the great shop-windows. They opened a toy piano, and a singing-doll played "Comin' through the Rye," The dolls did not find that a good tune to dance by; but the lady did not know any other, although she was the most costly doll in the shop. Then they wound up a music-box, and danced by that. This did very well for some tunes; but they had to walk around when it played "Hail Columbia," and wait for something else.

The "Jim Crow" doll had to dance by himself, for he could do nothing but a "break-down." He would not dance at all unless some one pulled his string. A toy monkey did this; but he would not stop when the dancer was tired.

They had supper on one of the counters. The rag doll placed some boxes for tables. The supper was of candy, for there was nothing in the shop to eat but sugar hearts and eggs. The dolls like candy better than anything else, and the supper was splendid. Patsy McQuirk said he could not eat candy. He wanted to know what kind of a supper it was without any potatoes. He got very angry, put his hands into his pockets, and smoked his pipe. It was very uncivil for him to do so in company. The smoke made the little ladies sick, and they all tried to climb into a"horn of plenty" to get out of the way.

Mother Hubbard and the two waiters tried to sing "I love Little Pussy;" but the tall one in a brigand hat opened his mouth wide, that the small dollies were afraid they might fall into it. The clown raised both arms in wonder, and Jack in the Box sprang up as high as me could to look down into the fellow's throat.

All the baby-dolls in caps and long dresses had been put to bed. They woke up when the others were at supper, and began to cry. The big doll brought them some candy, and that kept them quiet for some time.

The next morning a little girl found the toy piano open. She was sure the dolls had been playing on it. The grown-up people thought it had been left open the night before; but they do not understand dolls as well as little people do.

The sword in the stone

 

There are many famous stories about king Arthur of Britain. There stories about how he fought to right the wrong and how the wrong quite often won. There are stories about round tables and holy grails. There are stories of the perils and adventures that befell his knights in close encounters with dragons, witches, maidens and enchanters.

The first tale of all tells how Arthur became king, long before the deeds were even thought of. This is the tale of the sword in the stone.

It all began, so to speak, when Uther, King of Britain, fell in love. He was pacing up and down the battlements of Tintagel, staring moodily into the night, when a bright star burst into the shape of a blazing dragon in the sky.

'Good gracious me!' said Uther. 'Is that what love is all about?'

'Something of the sort,' said Merlin the magician. 'I was half expecting this.'

'What's it about?' the king asked.

'It's a sign,' said Merlin.

'I can see that, you old fool,' said Uther. 'Is it good or bad? Is it love or war? Do I win the lady I love or not?'

'You win her,' Merlin said, 'and have a child.'

'Bravo!' the king cried out. 'But how? The lady that I love is the lady Ygerne, wife to the Duke of Cornwall, who has safely shut her up in the strongest tower he has. Or had you forgotten that?'

'Things can always be arranged,' said Merlin, 'if you know a little magic.'

'We can hardly have a child if we never even see each other,' grumbled Uther.

'I'll change your shape so that you look like the Duke of Cornwall,' Merlin said. 'You can visit her whenever you like.'

'Not a very nice disguise,' said Uther, 'but if it is the best that you can do, then that is it.'

'First you must make a promise,' Merlin said.

'Yes, yes. I knew there would be something,' Uther sighed.

'When Ygerne has the child, I want it,' Merlin said.

'That's a bit hard!' Uther cried.

'It's not that bad,' said Merlin. 'That dragon in the sky, you see, foretells a great king will be born. Great kings need a good upbringing, and your style of life is not quite what it ought to be!'

'Oh, very well,' sighed Uther. 'Have it your own way.'

The blazing dragon faded from the sky. From that night on, King Uther called himself Uther Pendragon, although for a lot of the time he was quietly disguised as the Duke of Cornwall and thoroughly enjoyed himself with Ygerne.

She never knew that he was not her husband, until at last the Duke of Cornwall died. Uther took her to Tintagel and told her how much he had adored her all this time.

'We are going to have a most important son,' he said. Ygerne looked at him with perfect admiration.

'More important than you, my lord?' she laughed.

'Well, yes, I rather think so,' Uther said, beaming with pride, 'but it is very kind of you to doubt it, all the same, my dear. Unfortunately I have made a rather awkward promise. We have to give the baby to Merlin the magician.'

'Oh!' said Ygerne quietly and bit her lip.

Uther saw tears in her eyes. He put his hand in hers.

'It's all for the best, my dear,' he said. 'Merlin seems to think that the boy shall be something rather special.'

'All right,' Ygerne said. 'All right. Oh dear. All right.'

The baby was born and taken secretly to a small door in the castle wall. The cloaked figure of Merlin took the bundle carefully in his arms and rode with his precious burden to the home Sir Hector, an honest and loyal knight, whose castle lay deep in the vales of old England.

'I was half expecting you,' said Hector.

'The first half is up to you,' said Merlin. 'Treat him like a son. Teach him to be a true knight. He must learn to be simple and straight before he is noble and great.'

'Never fear,' Sir Hector said. 'I hold him dearer than my heart. This is the future of England in my arms. I shall remember that.'

Arthur grew up as if he was Sir Hector's son, his second son, for there was already Kay in the family. Kay and Arthur thought that they were brothers, and no one else but Merlin and Sir Hector knew the secret.

Quite often Merlin visited Sir Hector, as an old friend might visit an old friend.

'How is he getting on?' asked Merlin.

'The boys quarrel,' Hector said.

'Good, good,' said Merlin, nodding his head and laughing. 'Boys should quarrel now and then. Do they laugh as well?'

'Oh, they laugh,' said Hector quietly, so that no one else could hear.

'Not yet awhile,' said Merlin. 'Not yet.'

Kay bullied Arthur quite a bit because the boy was younger. But Arthur learnt to stand his ground and laugh at Kay and tease him. Kay became a knight when he was old enough.

'Treat me with a little more respect,' said Sir Kay.

'How can I?' Arthur laughed. 'Stop tripping on your spurs.'

Kay proudly practiced walking and riding in his new armour. Arthur acted as his squire and rode behind him.

Then the king, Uther Pendragon, died in distant Tintagel. There were rumours that he once had had a son who disappeared. There were no other rightful heirs to the throne of Britain. Barons and knights quarreled with each other. Some died one man should be king. Each spoke out for himself. There was fighting and unhappiness up and down the land.


Merlin watched the troubles grow. He rode to London to talk to the Archbishop.

'Christmas comes,' he said. 'Call all the nights and barons to your cathedral. Let them bury their quarrels and sing carols for a day or two.'

The Archbishop sent out a summons. The knights and barons came to the cathedral. They grumbled and complained and shoved each other in the aisles to make sure that they sat in the very best seats. But they sang their Christmas carols with good cheer and they jostled out into the crisp December air.

There, in the center of the courtyard, stood a stone.

'A fir tree was here before!' they cried. 'What's up? Who has stolen it? Who wants a lump of stone for Christmas!'

There was the handle of a sword in the heart of the stone. The blade was driven deep within. Letters of gold were written round the rock:

'He who draws this sword
Is Britain's rightful lord.'

'Here, let me have a go!' cried the barons.

'Move over, let me try!' shouted the nights.

'Shove off!' 'My turn!' 'Get lost!' they called, and tugged and heaved and struggled at the sword.

'It's no good,' they cried. 'It's probably an early April fool!'

They soon got bored and bustled off to fix a tournament to let off steam. They galloped up and down the field and ding, dong, merrily matched their might with mace and mallet. They knocked each other to the ground with lance and sword. They fought for ladies' favours and were glad that it was Christmas time and all was fun and fame.

Knights from castles all about came to the tournament. Sir Hector came and Kay and Arthur. It was Kay's first Christmas as a knight, full-fledged.

'What will you fight with, lance or sword?' asked Arthur eagerly.

'I came with lance,' said Kay, 'but now I see that the strongest men are swiping at each other with their swords. It wood be good to have a go at that.'

'No trouble,' Arthur said. 'I'll go and get your sword.'

He turned his horse about and galloped off. But as he passed the courtyard where the stone was set, he saw the sword. He did not read the writing.

'That could save me quite a ride,' he thought.

He took it from the stone and galloped back. Kay took the sword. He looked at it with surprise and showed the sword to Hector.

'Look, Father!' he cried. 'This is the sword from the stone! Does this mean I am Britain's rightful lord?'

'What's he on about?' asked Arthur.

'You come with me,' said Hector, 'both you lads.'

They rode back to the courtyard. They put the sword back in the stone.

'Now pull it out,' said Hector.

Kay pulled but it would not come out.

Arthur pulled and it came out.

'So what?' said Arthur. 'It's a knack, that's all.'

'Read the writing on the rock,' said Hector.

'He who draws this sword Is Britain's rightful lord.'

'Oh, no,' said Arthur, 'please, no, no! Must I do all those deeds and right those wrongs?'

'You must,' Sir Hector said, from bended knee, 'for you are King of Britain now.'