hen he turned round did take away his presence of mind a little; and
he was obliged to take four distinct puffs before he had sufficiently
regained his equilibrium to inquire, "Who the--Pickwick--are you?" (The
baron said "Dickens," but, as that is a naughty word, we will substitute
"Pickwick," which is equally expressive, and not so wrong.) Let me see;
where was I? Oh, yes! "Who the Pickwick are you?"

Now, before I allow the baron's visitor to answer the question, perhaps
I had better give a slight description of his personal appearance.

If this was not a true story, I should have liked to have made him a
model of manly beauty; but a regard for veracity compels me to confess
that he was not what would be generally considered handsome; that is,
not in figure, for his face was by no means unpleasing.

His body was, in size and shape, not very unlike a huge plum-pudding,
and was clothed in a bright-green, tightly-fitting doublet, with red
holly-berries for buttons.

His limbs were long and slender in proportion to his stature, which was
not more than three feet or so.

His head was encircled by a crown of holly and mistletoe.

The round red berries sparkled amid his hair which was silver-white, and
shone out in cheerful harmony with his rosy, jovial face. And that face!
it would have done one good to look at it.

In spite of the silver hair, and an occasional wrinkle beneath the
merry, laughing eyes, it seemed brimming over with perpetual youth. The
mouth, well garnished with teeth, white and sound, which seemed as if
they could do ample justice to holiday cheer, was ever open with a
beaming, genial smile, expanding now and then into hearty laughter. Fun
and good-fellowship were in every feature.

The owner of the face was, at the moment when the baron first perceived
him, comfortably seated upon the top of the large tobacco-jar on the
table, nursing his left leg.

The baron's somewhat abrupt inquiry did not appear to irritate him; on
the contrary, he seemed rather amused than otherwise.

"You don't ask prettily, old gentleman," he replied; "but I don't mind
telling you, for all that. I'm King Christmas."

"Eh?" said the baron.

"Ah!" said the goblin. Of course, you have guessed he was a goblin?

"And pray what's your business here?" said the baron.

"Don't be crusty with a fellow," replied the goblin. "I merely looked in
to wish you the compliments of the season. Talking of crust, by the way,
what sort