Christmas

Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the
goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of
all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter
of course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house.
Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour;
Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot
plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the
two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting
themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into
their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came
to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It
was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly
all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but
when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth,
one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim,
excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle
of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was
such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness,
were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple-sauce
and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;
indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small
atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet
every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular,
were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates
being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too
nervous to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in
turning out. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the
back-yard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a
supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of
horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A
smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an
eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a
laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute
Mrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding,
like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of
half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly
stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he
regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since
their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her
mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of
flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or
thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have
been, flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at
such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and
considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a
shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew
round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a
one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glasses.
Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden
goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks,
while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob
proposed:

"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!"

Which all the family re-echoed.

"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

Christmas at Fezziwig's warehouse

CHARLES DICKENS

"Yo Ho! my boys," said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night! Christmas Eve,
Dick!  Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up!" cried old
Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack
Robinson. . . ."

"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with
wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room
here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer-up, Ebenezer!"

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
couldn't have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in
a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from
public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps
were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as
snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ballroom as you would desire to
see on a winter's night.

In came a fiddler with a music book, and went up to the lofty desk and
made an orchestra of it and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came
Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Misses
Fezziwig, beaming and lovable. In came the six followers whose hearts
they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the
business. In came the housemaid with her cousin the baker. In came the
cook with her brother's particular friend the milkman. In came the boy
from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from
his master, trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but
one who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress; in they
all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at
once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle
and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate
grouping, old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top
couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples
at last, and not a bottom one to help them.

When this result was brought about the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de
Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top
couple, too, with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or
four and twenty pairs of partners; people who were not to be trifled
with; people who would dance and had no notion of walking.

But if they had been thrice as many--oh, four times as many--old
Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig.
As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term.
If that's not high praise, tell me higher and I'll use it. A positive
light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every
part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted at any given
time what would become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs.
Fezziwig had gone all through the dance, advance and retire; both hands
to your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle, and
back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"--cut so deftly that he
appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again with a
stagger.

When the clock struck eleven the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and
shaking hands with every person individually, as he or she went out,
wished him or her a Merry Christmas!

All The Titles

Christmas at Fezziwig's Warehouse - Charles Dickens

The Fir-Tree - Hans Christian Andersen

The Christmas Masquerade - Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

The Shepherds and the Angels - Adapted from the Bills

The Telltale Tile - Olive Thorne Miller

Little Girl's Christmas - By Winnifred E. Lincoln

A Christmas Matinee - M.A.L. Lane

Toinette and the Elves - Susan Coolidge

The Voyage of the Wee Red Cap. By Ruth Sawyer Durand

A Story of the Christ-Child (a German Legend for Christmas Eve) - Elizabeth Harrison

Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas - Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

Why the Chimes Rang - Raymond McAlden

The Birds'Christmas (founded on fact) - F.E. Mann

The Little Sister's Vacation - Winifred M. Kirkland

Little Wolff's Wooden Shoes - Francois Coppee, adapted and translated by Alma J. Foster

Christmas in the Alley - Olive Thorne Miller

A Christmas Star - Katherine Pyle

The Queerest Christmas - Grace Margaret Gallaher

Old Father Christmas - J.H. Ewing

A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

How Christmas Came to the Santa Maria Flats - Elia W. Peattie

The Legend of Babouscka - From the Russian Folk Tale

Christmas in the Barn - F. Arnstein

The Philanthropist's Christmas - James Weber Linn

The First Christmas-Tree - Lucy Wheelock

The First New England Christmas - G.L. Stone and M.G. Fickett

The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner - Charles Dickens

Christmas in Seventeen Seventy-Six - Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

Christmas Under the Snow - Olive Thorne Miller

Mr. Bluff's Experience of Holidays - Oliver Bell Bunce

Master Sandy's Snapdragon - Elbridge S. Brooks

A Christmas Fairy - John Strange Winter

The Greatest of These - Joseph Mills Hanson

Little Gretchen and the Wooden Shoe - Elizabeth Harrison

Big Rattle - Theodore Goodridge Roberts

A story of the Christ-child

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, on the night before Christmas,a little child was wandering all alone through the streets of a greatcity. There were many people on the treet, fathers and mothers,sisters and thers, uncles and aunts, and even -hairedgrandfathers and grandmothers, all of whom were hurrying home with
bundles of presents for each other and for their little ones. Fine
carriages rolled by, express wagons rattled past, even old carts were
pressed into service, and all things seemed in a hurry and glad with
expectation of the coming Christmas morning.

From some of the windows bright lights were already beginning to stream
until it was almost as bright as day. But the little child seemed to
have no home, and wandered about listlessly from street to street. No
one took any notice of him except perhaps Jack Frost, who bit his bare
toes and made the ends of his fingers tingle. The north wind, too,
seemed to notice the child, for it blew against him and pierced his
ragged garments through and through, causing him to shiver with cold.
Home after home he passed, looking with longing eyes through the
windows, in upon the glad, happy children, most of whom were helping to
trim the Christmas trees for the coming morrow.

"Surely," said the child to himself, "where there is so must gladness
and happiness, some of it may be for me." So with timid steps he
approached a large and handsome house. Through the windows, he could
see a tall and stately Christmas tree already lighted. Many presents
hung upon it. Its green boughs were trimmed with gold and silver
ornaments. Slowly he climbed up the broad steps and gently rapped at
the door. It was opened by a large man-servant. He had a kindly face,
although his voice was deep and gruff. He looked at the little child
for a moment, then sadly shook his head and said, "Go down off the
steps. There is no room here for such as you." He looked sorry as he
spoke; possibly he remembered his own little ones at home, and was glad
that they were not out in this cold and bitter night. Through the open
door a bright light shone, and the warm air, filled with fragrance of
the Christmas pine, rushed out from the inner room and greeted the
little wanderer with a kiss. As the child turned back into the cold and
darkness, he wondered why the footman had spoken thus, for surely,
thought he, those little children would love to have another companion
join them in their joyous Christmas festival. But the little children
inside did not even know that he had knocked at the door.

The street grew colder and darker as the child passed on. He went sadly
forward, saying to himself, "Is there no one in all this great city who
will share the Christmas with me?" Farther and farther down the street
he wandered, to where the homes were not so large and beautiful. There
seemed to be little children inside of nearly all the houses. They were
dancing and frolicking about. Christmas trees could be seen in nearly
every window, with beautiful dolls and trumpets and picture-books and
balls and tops and other dainty toys hung upon them. In one window the
child noticed a little lamb made of soft white wool. Around its neck
was tied a red ribbon. It had evidently been hung on the tree for one
of the children. The little stranger stopped before this window and
looked long and earnestly at the beautiful things inside, but most of
all was he drawn toward the white lamb. At last creeping up to the
window-pane, he gently tapped upon it. A little girl came to the window
and looked out into the dark street where the snow had now begun to
fall. She saw the child, but she only frowned and shook her head and
said, "Go away and come some other time. We are too busy to take care
of you now." Back into the dark, cold streets he turned again. The wind
was whirling past him and seemed to say, "Hurry on, hurry on, we have
no time to stop. 'Tis Christmas Eve and everybody is in a hurry
to-night."

Again and again the little child rapped softly at door or window-pane.
At each place he was refused admission. One mother feared he might have
some ugly disease which her darlings would catch; another father said
he had only enough for his own children and none to spare for beggars.
Still another told him to go home where he belonged, and not to trouble
other folks.

The hours passed; later grew the night, and colder grew the wind, and
darker seemed the street. Farther and farther the little one wandered.
There was scarcely any one left upon the street by this time, and the
few who remained did not seem to see the child, when suddenly ahead of
him there appeared a bright, single ray of light. It shone through the
darkness into the child's eyes. He looked up smilingly and said, "I
will go where the small light beckons, perhaps they will share their
Christmas with me."

Hurrying past all the other houses, he soon reached the end of the
street and went straight up to the window from which the light was
streaming. It was a poor, little, low house, but the child cared not
for that. The light seemed still to call him in. From what do you
suppose the light came? Nothing but a tallow candle which had been
placed in an old cup with a broken handle, in the window, as a glad
token of Christmas Eve. There was neither curtain nor shade to the
small, square window and as the little child looked in he saw standing
upon a neat wooden table a branch of a Christmas tree. The room was
plainly furnished but it was very clean. Near the fireplace sat a
lovely faced mother with a little two-year-old on her knee and an older
child beside her. The two children were looking into their mother's
face and listening to a story. She must have been telling them a
Christmas story, I think. A few bright coals were burning in the
fireplace, and all seemed light and warm within.

The little wanderer crept closer and closer to the window-pane. So
sweet was the mother's face, so loving seemed the little children, that
at last he took courage and tapped gently, very gently on the door. The
mother stopped talking, the little children looked up. "What was that,
mother?" asked the little girl at her side. "I think it was some one
tapping on the door," replied the mother. "Run as quickly as you can
and open it, dear, for it is a bitter cold night to keep any one
waiting in this storm." "Oh, mother, I think it was the bough of the
tree tapping against the window-pane," said the little girl. "Do please
go on with our story." Again the little wanderer tapped upon the door.
"My child, my child," exclaimed the mother, rising, "that certainly was
a rap on the door. Run quickly and open it. No one must be left out in
the cold on our beautiful Christmas Eve."

The child ran to the door and threw it wide open. The mother saw the
ragged stranger standing without, cold and shivering, with bare head
and almost bare feet. She held out both hands and drew him into the
warm, bright room. "You poor, dear child," was all she said, and
putting her arms around him, she drew him close to her breast. "He is
very cold, my children," she exclaimed. "We must warm him." "And,"
added the little girl, "we must love him and give him some of our
Christmas, too." "Yes," said the mother, "but first let us warm him--"

The mother sat down by the fire with the little child on her lap, and
her own little ones warmed his half-frozen hands in theirs. The mother
smoothed his tangled curls, and, bending low over his head, kissed the
child's face. She gathered the three little ones in her arms and the
candle and the fire light shone over them. For a moment the room was
very still. By and by the little girl said softly, to her mother, "May
we not light the Christmas tree, and let him see how beautiful it
looks?" "Yes," said the mother. With that she seated the child on a low
stool beside the fire, and went herself to fetch the few simple
ornaments which from year to year she had saved for her children's
Christmas tree. They were soon so busy that they did not notice the
room had filled with a strange and brilliant light. They turned and
looked at the spot where the little wanderer sat. His ragged clothes
had changed to garments white and beautiful; his tangled curls seemed
like a halo of golden light about his head; but most glorious of all
was his face, which shone with a light so dazzling that they could
scarcely look upon it.

In silent wonder they gazed at the child. Their little room seemed to
grow larger and larger, until it was as wide as the whole world, the
roof of their low house seemed to expand and rise, until it reached to
the sky.

With a sweet and gentle smile the wonderful child looked upon them for
a moment, and then slowly rose and floated through the air, above the
treetops, beyond the church spire, higher even than the clouds
themselves, until he appeared to them to be a shining star in the sky
above. At last he disappeared from sight. The astonished children
turned in hushed awe to their mother, and said in a whisper, "Oh,
mother, it was the Christ-Child, was it not?" And the mother answered
in a low tone, "Yes."

And it is said, dear children, that each Christmas Eve the little
Christ-Child wanders through some town or village, and those who
receive him and take him into their homes and hearts have given to them
this marvellous vision which is denied to others.

Little Gretchen and the wooden shoe

The following story is one of many which has drifted down to us from

the story-loving nurseries and hearthstones of Germany. I cannot recall

when I first had it told to me as a child, varied, of course, by

different tellers, but always leaving that sweet, tender impression of

God's loving care for the least of his children. I have since read

different versions of it in at least a half-dozen story books for

children.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in

a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the

edge of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to

the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room

in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square

window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an

old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a

thin, blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.

Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who

lived in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people.

One was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of

the village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had

come into the world with the huge mountains, and the great fir-trees,

which stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled

all over with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read

aright, would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy,

self-sacrifice, of loving, anxious watching beside sick-beds, of quiet

endurance of pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a thousand

deeds of unselfish love for other people; but, of course, they could

not read this strange handwriting. They only knew that she was old and

wrinkled, and that she stooped as she walked. None of them seemed to

fear her, for her smile was always cheerful, and she had a kindly word

for each of them if they chanced to meet her on her way to and from the

village. With this old, old woman lived a very little girl. So bright

and happy was she that the travellers who passed by the lonesome little

house on the edge of the forest often thought of a sunbeam as they saw

her. These two people were known in the village as Granny Goodyear and

Little Gretchen.

The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller

branches from the pine-trees in the forest. Gretchen and her Granny

were up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of

oatmeal, Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old

woollen shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen

always claimed the right to put the shawl over her Granny's head, even

though she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully

pinning it under Granny's chin, she gave her a good-bye kiss, and

Granny started out for her morning's work in the forest. This work was

nothing more nor less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches

which the autumn winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground.

These were carefully gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied

together with a strong linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle

to her shoulder and trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold

the fagots for kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes

she would get only a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or more,

but on this money little Gretchen and she managed to live; they had

their home, and the forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire which

kept them warm in cold weather.

In the summer time Granny had a little garden at the back of the hut

where she raised, with little Gretchen's help, a few potatoes and

turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter use. To

this meagre supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs from the

forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black coffee for

Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It cost too much

money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy, because they loved

each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left alone all day long

in the hut, because Granny would have some work to do in the village

after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was during these long

days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing the song which the

wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer time she learned the

chirp and twitter of the birds, until her voice might almost be

mistaken for a bird's voice; she learned to dance as the swaying

shadows did, and even to talk. to the stars which shone through the

little square window when Granny came home too late or too tired to

talk.

Sometimes, when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra bundle

of newly knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let little

Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips to the

town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen's eyes were

delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas-trees which stood in the

window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would never tire

of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little wooden shops

with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all the other fine

things. She had never owned a plaything in her whole life; therefore,

toys which you and I would not think much of, seemed to her to be very

beautiful.

That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little

Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because

Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own small wooden stool and

placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her

hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant she wanted to talk about

something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which she had

been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as to say:

"Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen."

"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "it's almost Christmas time, isn't it?"

"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five more days now," and then she

sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice

Granny's sigh.

"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she, looking

up eagerly into Granny's face.

"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no

Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."

"Oh, but, Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the

beautiful toys we saw in the village to-day. Surely Santa Claus has

sent enough for every little child."

"Ah, dearie," said Granny, "those toys are for people who can pay money

for them, and we have no money to spend for Christmas toys."

"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children who

live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the village

will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They will be so

glad to give some to a little girl who has none."

"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking the

soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love. You

would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads are

so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about

anybody else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head.

"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing

a little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of

the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and

some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And,

Granny, dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I

gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who

lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of

our pine forest in his room all Christmas day?"

"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the

Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present

yourself."

"Oh, but, Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you

forget all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth

and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was

born! They are so loving and good that they will not forget any little

child. I shall ask my dear stars to-night to tell them of us. You

know," she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very high

that they must know the angels quite well, as they come and go with

their messages from the loving God."

Granny sighed, as she half whispered, "Poor child, poor child!" but

Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty kiss,

saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the stars

often enough, else you wouldn't be sad at Christmas time." Then she

danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her to

show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She looked

so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and laughed

with little Gretchen over her new snow-dance. The days passed on, and

the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied up the

little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful little

housewife--was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as

happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day,

preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most

beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next morning

to the old sick man who lived by the mill. The day was all too short

for the happy little girl. When Granny came trudging wearily home that

night, she found the frame of the doorway covered with green pine

branches.

"It's to welcome you, Granny! It's to welcome you!" cried Gretchen;

"our old dear home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don't you

see, the branches of evergreen make it look as if it were smiling all

over, and it is trying to say, 'A happy Christmas' to you, Granny!"

Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and

went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts of

the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been trimmed

by the busy little fingers, with smaller and more flexible branches of

the pine-trees. A small bouquet of red mountain-ash berries stood at

each side of the fireplace, and these, together with the trimmed posts

of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festival look. Gretchen

laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until the house seemed

full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had been sad as she

turned toward their home that night, thinking of the disappointment

which must come to loving little Gretchen the next morning.

After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny's

side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny's knee, asked to be

told once again the story of the coming of the Christ-Child; how the

night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful

song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and

glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had

heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of

it, and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child

wanted to hear it once more.

When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for a

little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was

time for them to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes,

such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth.

Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she

said, "Granny, don't you think that somebody in all this wide world

will think of us to-night?"

"Nay, Gretchen," said Granny, "I don't think any one will."

"Well, then, Granny," said Gretchen, "the Christmas angels will, I

know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes, and put it on the

windowsill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure

the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is."

"Ah, you foolish, foolish child," said Granny, "you are only getting

ready for a disappointment To-morrow morning there will be nothing

whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now."

But little Gretchen would not listen. She only shook her head and cried

out: "Ah, Granny, you don't talk enough to the stars." With this she

seized the shoe, and, opening the door, hurried out to place it on the

windowsill. It was very dark without, and something soft and cold

seemed to gently kiss her hair and face. Gretchen knew by this that it

was snowing, and she looked up to the sky, anxious to see if the stars

were in sight, but a strong wind was tumbling the dark, heavy

snow-clouds about and had shut away all else.

"Never mind," said Gretchen softly to herself, "the stars are up there,

even if I can't see them, and the Christmas angels do not mind

snowstorms."

Just then a rough wind went sweeping by the little girl, whispering

something to her which she could not understand, and then it made a

sudden rush up to the snow-clouds and parted them, so that the deep,

mysterious sky appeared beyond, and shining down out of the midst of it

was Gretchen's favourite star.

"Ah, little star, little star!" said the child, laughing aloud, "I knew

you were there, though I couldn't see you. Will you whisper to the

Christmas angels as they come by that little Gretchen wants so very

much to have a Christmas gift to-morrow morning, if they have one to

spare, and that she has put one of Granny's shoes upon the windowsill

ready for it?"

A moment more and the little girl, standing on tiptoe, had reached the

windowsill and placed the shoe upon it, and was back again in the house

beside Granny and the warm fire.

The two went quietly to bed, and that night as little Gretchen knelt to

pray to the Heavenly Father, she thanked him for having sent the

Christ-Child into the world to teach all mankind how to be loving and

unselfish, and in a few moments she was quietly sleeping, dreaming of

the Christmas angels.

The next morning, very early, even before the sun was up, little

Gretchen was awakened by the sound of sweet music coming from the

village. She listened for a moment and then she knew that the

choir-boys were singing the Christmas carols in the open air of the

village street. She sprang up out of bed and began to dress herself as

quickly as possible, singing as she dressed. While Granny was slowly

putting on her clothes, little Gretchen, having finished dressing

herself, unfastened the door and hurried out to see what the Christmas

angels had left in the old wooden shoe.

The white snow covered everything--trees, stumps, roads, and

pastures--until the whole world looked like fairyland. Gretchen climbed

up on a large stone which was beneath the window and carefully lifted

down the wooden shoe. The snow tumbled off of it in a shower over the

little girl's hands, but she did not heed that; she ran hurriedly back

into the house, putting her hand into the toe of the shoe as she ran.

"Oh, Granny! Oh, Granny!" she exclaimed, "you didn't believe the

Christmas angels would think about us, but see, they have, they have!

Here is a dear little bird nestled down in the toe of your shoe! Oh,

isn't he beautiful?"

Granny came forward and looked at what the child was holding lovingly

in her hand. There she saw a tiny chick-a-dee, whose wing was evidently

broken by the rough and boisterous winds of the night before, and who

had taken shelter in the safe, dry toe of the old wooden shoe. She

gently took the little bird out of Gretchen's hands, and skilfully

bound his broken wing to his side, so that he need not hurt himself by

trying to fly with it. Then she showed Gretchen how to make a nice warm

nest for the little stranger, close beside the fire, and when their

breakfast was ready she let Gretchen feed the little bird with a few

moist crumbs.

Later in the day Gretchen carried the fresh, green boughs to the old

sick man by the mill, and on her way home stopped to see and enjoy the

Christmas toys of some other children whom she knew, never once wishing

that they were hers. When she reached home she found that the little

bird had gone to sleep. Soon, however, he opened his eyes and stretched

his head up, saying just as plain as a bird could say, "Now, my new

friends, I want you to give me something more to eat." Gretchen gladly

fed him again, and then, holding him in her lap, she softly and gently

stroked his gray feathers until the little creature seemed to lose all

fear of her. That evening Granny taught her a Christmas hymn and told

her another beautiful Christmas story. Then Gretchen made up a funny

little story to tell to the birdie. He winked his eyes and turned his

head from side to side in such a droll fashion that Gretchen laughed

until the tears came.

As Granny and she got ready for bed that night, Gretchen put her arms

softly around Granny's neck, and whispered: "What a beautiful Christmas

we have had to-day, Granny! Is there anything in the world more lovely

than Christmas?"

"Nay, child, nay," said Granny, "not to such loving hearts as yours."

The Fir-Tree

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir-tree. The place he had was a

very good one; the sun shone on him; as to fresh air, there was enough

of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as

firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.

He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care

for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they

were in the woods looking for wild strawberries. The children often

came with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them

threaded on a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh,

how pretty he is! what a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree

could not bear to hear.

At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year

he was another long bit taller; for with fir-trees one can always tell

by the shoots how many years old they are.

"Oh, were I but such a high tree as the others are!" sighed he. "Then I

should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look

into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my

branches; and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much

stateliness as the others!"

Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds, which morning

and evening sailed above them, gave the little Tree any pleasure.

In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would

often come leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that

made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the tree

was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and

grow, to get older and be tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is

the most delightful thing in the world!"

In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest

trees. This happened every year; and the young Fir-tree, that had now

grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent

great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches

were lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly

to be recognized; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses

dragged them out of the woods.

Where did they go to? What became of them?

In spring, when the Swallows and the Storks came, the Tree asked them,

"Don't you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them

anywhere?"

The Swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked

musing, nodded his head, and said: "Yes, I think I know; I met many

ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent

masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I

may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most

majestically!"

"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea

look in reality? What is it like?"

"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with

these words off he went.

"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams, "rejoice in thy vigorous

growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"

And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the

Fir understood it not.

When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down; trees which often

were not even as large or of the same age as this Fir-tree, who could

never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they

were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid

on carts, and the horses drew them out of the woods.

"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than I;

there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they

retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?"

"We know! we know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the

windows in the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest

splendour and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We

peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the

warm room, and ornamented with the most splendid things--with gilded

apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!"

"And then?" asked the Fir-tree, trembling in every bough. "And then?

What happens then?"

"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."

"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried

the Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What

a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my

branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh,

were I but already on the cart. Were I in the warm room with all the

splendour and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still

grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me?

Something better, something still grander, MUST follow--but what? Oh,

how I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with

me!"

"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight; "rejoice in

thy own fresh youth!"

But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green

both winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!"

and toward Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe

struck deep into the very pith; the tree fell to the earth with a sigh:

he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness,

for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place

where he had sprung up. He knew well that he should never see his dear

old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, any more;

perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable.

The Tree only came to himself when he Fout! Geen inhoudsopgavegegevens gevonden.was unloaded in a courtyard with

the other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! we don't

want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the

Fir-tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging

on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large

Chinese vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easy

chairs, silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books, and full of

toys worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said

so. And the Fir-tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with

sand: but no one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung

all around it, and it stood on a large gayly coloured carpet. Oh, how

the Tree quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the

young ladies, decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut

out of coloured paper, and each net was filled with sugar-plums; and

among the other boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended,

looking as though they had grown there, and little blue and white

tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls that looked for all the

world like men--the Tree had never beheld such before--were seen among

the foliage, and at the very top a large star of gold tinsel was fixed.

It was really splendid--beyond description splendid.

"This evening!" said they all; "how it will shine this evening!"

"Oh," thought the Tree, "if the evening were but come! If the tapers

were but lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other

trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows

will beat against the window-panes! I wonder if I shall take root here,

and winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!"

He knew very much about the matter! but he was so impatient that for

sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the

same thing as a headache with us.

The candles were now lighted. What brightness! What splendour! The Tree

trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the

foliage. It blazed up splendidly.

"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.

Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was

so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendour, that he was

quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both

folding-doors opened, and a troop of children rushed in as if they

would upset the Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little

ones stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted

so that the whole place reechoed with their rejoicing; they danced

round the tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.

"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now?" And

the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down

they were put out, one after the other, and then the children had

permission to plunder the tree. So they fell upon it with such violence

that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the

cask, it would certainly have tumbled down.

The children danced about with their beautiful playthings: no one

looked at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the

branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left

that had been forgotten.

"A story! a story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man toward

the tree. He seated himself under it, and said: "Now we are in the

shade, and the Tree can listen, too. But I shall tell only one story.

Now which will you have: that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Klumpy-Dumpy

who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and

married the princess?"

"Ivedy-Avedy!" cried some; "Klumpy-Dumpy" cried the others. There was

such a bawling and screaming--the Fir-tree alone was silent, and he

thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest?--am I to do

nothing whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he

had to do.

And the man told about Klumpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who

notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess.

And the children clapped their hands, and cried out, "Oh, go on! Do go

on!" They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy, too, but the little man

only told them about Klumpy-Dumpy. The Fir-tree stood quite still and

absorbed in thought; the birds in the woods had never related the like

of this. "Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the

princess! Yes! Yes! that's the way of the world!" thought the Fir-tree,

and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so

good-looking. "Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs,

too, and get a princess as wife!" And he looked forward with joy to the

morrow, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings,

fruits, and tinsel.

"I won't tremble to-morrow," thought the Fir-tree. "I will enjoy to the

full all my splendour. To-morrow I shall hear again the story of

Klumpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy, too." And the whole

night the Tree stood still and in deep thought.

In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

"Now, then, the splendour will begin again," thought the Fir. But they

dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft; and here

in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's

the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What

shall I hear now, I wonder?"  And he leaned against the wall, lost in

reverie. Time enough had he, too, for his reflections; for days and

nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did

come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner out of the way.

There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely

forgotten.

"'Tis now winter out of doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard

and covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have

been put up here under shelter till the springtime comes! How

thoughtful that is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so

dark here, and so terribly lonely! Not even a hare. And out in the

woods it was so pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare

leaped by; yes--even when he jumped over me; but I did not like it

then. It is really terribly lonely here!"

"Squeak! squeak!" said a little Mouse at the same moment, peeping out

of his hole. And then another little one came. They sniffed about the

Fir-tree, and rustled among the branches.

"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be

delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?"

"I am by no means old," said the Fir-tree. "There's many a one

considerably older than I am."

"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They

were so extremely curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on

the earth. Have you never been there? Were you never in the larder,

where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one

dances about on tallow-candles; that place where one enters lean, and

comes out again fat and portly?"

"I know no such place," said the Tree, "but I know the woods, where the

sun shines, and where the little birds sing." And then he told all

about his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before;

and they listened and said:

"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have

been!"

"I?" said the Fir-tree, thinking over what he had himself related.

"Yes, in reality those were happy times." And then he told about

Christmas Eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.

"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir-tree!"

"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the woods this winter; I

am in my prime, and am only rather short for my age."

"What delightful stories you know!" said the Mice: and the next night

they came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the tree

recounted; and the more he related, the more plainly he remembered all

himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy times.

"But they may still come--they may still come. Klumpy-Dumpy fell

downstairs and yet he got a princess," and he thought at the moment of

a nice little Birch-tree growing out in the woods; to the Fir, that

would be a real charming princess.

"Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir-tree told the

whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and

the little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next

night two more Mic

e came, and on Sunday two Rats, even; but they said

the stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and

they, too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.

"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats.

"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening;

but I did not then know how happy I was."

"It is a very stupid story. Don't you know one about bacon and tallow

candles? Can't you tell any larder stories?"

"No," said the Tree.

"Then good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home.

At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After

all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat around me and

listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take

good care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again."

But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of

people and set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the Tree was

pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but

a man drew him toward the stairs, where the daylight shone.

"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the

fresh air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All

passed so quickly, there was so much going on around him, that the Tree

quite forgot to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all

was in flower; the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade,

the lindens were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said,

"Quirre-vit! my husband is come!" but it was not the Fir-tree that they

meant.

"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he, exultingly, and spread

out his branches; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow. It was

in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of

tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In the courtyard some of the merry children were playing who had danced

at Christmas round the Fir-tree, and were so glad at the sight of him.

One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.

"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he,

trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.

And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in

the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark

corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the woods, of the

merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so

much pleasure to the story of Klumpy-Dumpy.

"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I

had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"

And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a

whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large

brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.

The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star

on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his

life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end.

All, all was over; every tale must end at last.