MsCharlotte's Stuff: Christmas

Chapter 10: The Dagger

When Claus saw the snakes preparing to strike Tweedleknees he knew what he had to do. He dug the magic mouthharp from his pocket.

The elves had told him the sound of the harp would charm the fiercest foe. Would it work for a thousand snakes?

Although he had never played such an instrument, he took a deep breath and blew with all his might on the harp.

The sweetest music he had ever heard filled the air. The snakes grew silent. Slowly they uncoiled. Their tongues were still. Their eyes grew dreamy.

Claus took his mouth from the harp and shouted, "Tweedleknees, come!" Then he filled his lungs with air again and blew desperately on the harp while the elf, freed of his hypnosis, scrambled up the log to safety.

As soon as Tweedleknees was out of the pit he ran. Claus stumbled after him still blowing furiously on the harp. They ran until they had no breath left either to run or blow. They fell into a snow bank and lay there gasping.

Presently Claus sat up. He threw away the harp. It was the third weapon and its magic would not work again. Claus said not a word but Tweedleknees said miserably, "It's all my fault." Then he cried. "But it wasn't because I lost my temper! I was only trying to be kind to the rabbit!"

Claus nodded. "Ah, well," he said. "We still have one last weapon." He drew from his belt the dagger whose point had been dipped in a deadly poison. "When I meet the Pigwidgen I shall use this. Even if the dagger fails to kill, the poison will."

Tweedleknees took the dagger in his own hands and examined it. "The point seems dull," he said critically. He pressed the point gently against the palm of his hand. "Ah," he said with satisfaction. "It is sharp enough." He handed back the dagger.

"Let us go," said Claus rising, "for surely we have wasted time enough."

But Tweedleknees did not stir. His face turned dreadfully pale. Sweat poured down his forehead. His whole body shook with fever.

"I cannot move," he groaned.

The awful truth came to Claus. He opened Tweedleknees hand. There lay a single drop of blood where the dagger had pressed against the palm.

"You are poisoned!" cried Claus. He cradled the trembling elf in his arms. "What shall we do? What shall we do?"

"Leave me," murmured Tweedleknees.

"Never!" proclaimed Claus.

"I have been nothing but trouble," Tweedleknees said.

"It doesn't matter," said Claus. "You never meant to harm."

"I am done for," growled the elf. "You must go on. There is no more time to lose."

Claus would not leave. "There must be some way to save you. You are an elf. Tell me what you know."

"There is a way," sighed Tweedleknees.

"What is it?" asked Claus. "Tell me!"

"If," whispered Tweedleknees, fainting, "a stone should weep for me."