2003-07-17 - 10:57 p.m.

King John's Christmas

- A.A. Milne

King John was not a good man--he had his little ways.

Sometimes no one spoke to him for days and days and

days. Men who came across him when walking in the

town, gave him a supercilious stare, or passed with

noses in the air. Bad King John stood dumbly there,

blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man, and no good friends had

he. He stayed in every afternoon, but no one came to

tea. And round about December, the cards upon his

shelf, which wished him lots of Christmas cheer and

fortune in the coming year, were never from his near

and dear, but only from himself.

King John was not a good man, yet had his hopes and

fears. They had given him no present now for years

and years and years. But every year at Christmas,

while minstrels stood about, collecting tribute from

the young for all the songs they might have sung, he

stole away upstairs and hung a hopeful stocking out.

King John was not a good man. He lived his life aloof.

Alone, he thought a message out while climbing up the

roof. He wrote it down and propped it against the

chimney stack: 'To all and sundry, near and far, F.

Christmas in particular,' and signed it not 'Johannes

R.,' but very humbly, 'Jack.'

'I want some crackers and I want some candy. I think

a box of chocolates would come in handy. I don't mind

oranges. I do like nuts. And I should like a pocketknife

that really cuts. And oh, Father Christmas, if you love

me at all, please bring me a big, red india-rubber ball.'

King John was not a good man. He wrote his message out

and got him to his room again, descending by the spout.

And all that night he lay there, a prey to hopes and

fears. 'I think that's him a-coming now,' anxiety

bedewed his brow. 'He'll bring one present, anyhow;

the first I've had for years. Forget about the crackers

and forget about the candy. I'm sure a box of chocolates

would never come in handy. I don't like oranges. I don't

want nuts. And I have got a pocketknife that almost cuts.

But oh, Father Christmas, if you love me at all, bring

me a big, red india-rubber ball.'

King John was not a good man. Next morning, when the sun

rose up to tell a waiting world that Christmas had begun

and people seized their stockings and opened them with

glee, and crackers, toys and games appeared, and lips with

sticky sweets were smeared, King John said grimly, 'As I

feared, nothing again for me. I did want crackers and I

did want candy. I know a box of chocolates would come in

handy. I do love oranges. I did want nuts. I haven't got

a pocketknife, not one that cuts. And oh, if Father

Christmas had loved me at all, he would have brought a

big, red india-rubber ball.'

King John stood by the window and frowned to see below the

happy bands of boys and girls all playing in the snow. A

while he stood there watching and envying them all . . . when

through the window, big and red, there hurtled by his royal

head and bounced and fell upon the bed an india-rubber ball.

And oh, Father Christmas, my blessings on you fall for

bringing him a big, red india-rubber ball.

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