He himself carefully purchased the motley Christmas lights, the playthings, the sweetmeats, just as his parents had presented them to him in his childish years; and then the presentation took place, as the kind reader has already seen.
"It is very vexatious," said Peregrine, after having played with them some time--"it is very vexatious that the stag and wild boar hunt should be missing. Where can they be? Ah, look there!"--At this moment he perceived a little box which still remained unopened, and hastily snatched at it, expecting to recover the missing treasure. But on opening it he found it empty, and started back as if a sudden fright had seized him.--"Strange!" he murmured to himself; "strange! What is the matter with this box? It seems as if some fearful thing sprang out upon me, that my eye was too dull to grapple with."
Alina, on being questioned, assured him that she had found the box among the playthings, and had in vain used every exertion to open it; hence she had imagined that it contained something particular, and that the lid would yield only to the experienced hand of her master.
"Strange!" repeated Peregrine, "very strange!--and it was with this chase that I had particularly pleased myself; I hope it may not bode any evil!--But who, on a Christmas Eve, would dwell upon such fancies, which have properly no foundation? Alina, fetch me the basket."
Alina accordingly brought a large white basket; in which, with much care, he packed up the playthings, the sweetmeats, and the tapers, took the basket under his arm, the great Christmas-tree on his shoulder, and set out on his way.
It was the kind and laudable practice of Mr. Tyss to surprise some needy family, where he knew there were children, with his whole cargo of Christmas-boxes, just as he had purchased it, and dream himself for a few hours into the happy times of boyhood. Then, when the children were in the height of their joy, he would softly steal away and wander about the streets half the night, hardly knowing what to do with himself, from the deep emotions which straitened his breast, and feeling his own house like a vault, in which he was buried with all his pleasures. This time his Christmas-boxes were intended for the children of a poor bookbinder, of the name of Lemmerhirt, who was a skilful, industrious man, had long worked for him, and whose three children he was well acquainted with.