"The custom of Christmas-trees
came from Germany. I can remember when they were
first introduced into England, and what wonderful
things we thought them. Now, every village school
has its tree, and the scholars openly discuss
whether the presents have been 'good,' or 'mean,' as
compared with other trees in former years. The first
one that I ever saw I believed to have come from
Good Father Christmas himself; but little boys have
grown too wise now to be taken in for their own
amusement. They are not excited by secret and
mysterious preparations in the back drawing-room;
they hardly confess to the thrill--which I feel to
this day--when the folding doors are thrown open,
and amid the blaze of tapers, mamma, like a Fate,
advances with her scissors to give every one what
falls to his lot.
"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I
had not seen a
Christmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever
saw was the picture
of that held by Old Father Christmas in my
godmother's picture-book.
'"What are those things on the
tree?' I asked.
"'Candles,' said my father.
"'No, father, not the candles;
the other things?'
"'Those are toys, my son.'
"'Are they ever taken off?'
"'Yes, they are taken off, and
given to the children who stand around
the tree.'
"Patty and I grasped each other
by the hand, and with one voice
murmured; 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'
"By and by I asked, 'How old is
Father Christmas?'
"My father laughed, and said,
'One thousand eight hundred and thirty
years, child,' which was then the year of our Lord,
and thus one
thousand eight hundred and thirty years since the
first great Christmas
Day.
"'He LOOKS very old,' whispered
Patty.
"And I, who was, for my age,
what Kitty called 'Bible-learned,' said
thoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind,
'Then he's older than
Methuselah.'
"But my father had left the
room, and did not hear my difficulty.
"November and December went by,
and still the picture-book kept all its charm for
Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old
Father
Christmas as children can love and realize a fancy
friend. To those who
remember the fancies of their childhood I need say
no more.
"Christmas week came, Christmas
Eve came. My father and mother were mysteriously and
unaccountably busy in the parlor (we had only one
parlor), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in.
We went into the kitchen, but even here was no place
of rest for as. Kitty was 'all over
the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince
pies, and puddings were
with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no
place there for children and books to sit with their
toes in the fire, when a body wanted to be at the
oven all along. The cat was enough for HER temper,'
she added.
"As to puss, who obstinately
refused to take a hint which drove her out
into the Christmas frost, she returned again and
again with soft steps,
and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the
warm hearth, only
to fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's
hasty slipper.
"We had more sense, or less
courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and
went to the back door.
"Patty and I were hardy
children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all
weathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put
Kitty's shawl over our two heads, and went outside.
I rather hoped to see something of Dick, for it was
holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy
helping his father to bore holes in the carved seats
of the church, which were to
hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the
idea of church
decoration in my young days. You have improved on
your elders there,
young people, and I am candid enough to allow it.
Still, the sprigs of
red and green were better than nothing, and, like
your lovely wreaths
and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old
black wood were
bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas
joy; and, if only
one knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose.
"Well, Dick was busy, and not
to be seen. We ran across the little yard
and looked over the wall at the end to see if we
could see anything or
anybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow
field sloping
prettily away to a little hill about three quarters
of a mile distant;
which, catching some fine breezes from the moors
beyond, was held to be a place of cure for
whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarly
called. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me,
and carried Patty,
when we were recovering from the complaint, as I
well remember. It was the only 'change of air' we
could afford, and I dare say it did as well as if we
had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside.
"This hill was now covered with
snow and stood off against the gray
sky. The white fields looked vast and dreary in the
dusk. The only gay
things to be seen were the berries on the holly
hedge, in the little
lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard,
led up to the
Hall--and the fat robin, that was staring at me. I
was looking at the
robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her
corner of Kitty's
shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from
our heads, and
cried:
"'Look!'
"I looked. An old man was
coming along the lane. His hair and beard
were as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the
sort of apple that
keeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown.
There was snow about
him in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree.
"The same conviction seized
upon us both. With one breath, we
exclaimed, 'IT'S OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS!'
"I know now that it was only an
old man of the place, with whom we did not happen to
be acquainted and that he was taking a little
fir-tree up to the Hall, to be made into a
Christmas-tree. He was a very
good-humored old fellow, and rather deaf, for which
he made up by
smiling and nodding his head a good deal, and
saying, 'aye, aye, to be
sure!' at likely intervals.
"As he passed us and met our
earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded so
earnestly that I was bold enough to cry,
'Good-evening, Father
Christmas!'
"'Same to you!' said he, in a
high-pitched voice.
"'Then you ARE Father
Christmas?' said Patty.
"'And a happy New Year,' was
Father Christmas's reply, which rather put me out.
But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner that
Patty went on, 'You're very old, aren't you?'
"'So I be, miss, so I be,' said
Father Christmas, nodding.
"'Father says you're eighteen
hundred and thirty years old,' I muttered.
"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said
Father Christmas. 'I'm a long age.'
"A VERY long age, thought I,
and I added, 'You're nearly twice as old
as Methuselah, you know,' thinking that this might
have struck him.
"'Aye, aye,' said Father
Christmas; but he did not seem to think
anything of it. After a pause he held up the tree,
and cried, 'D'ye
know what this is, little miss?'
"'A Christmas-tree,' said
Patty.
"And the old man smiled and
nodded.
"I leant over the wall, and
shouted, 'But there are no candles.'
"'By and by,' said Father
Christmas, nodding as before. 'When it's dark
they'll all be lighted up. That'll be a fine sight!'
'"Toys, too, there'll be, won't
there?' said Patty.
"Father Christmas nodded his
head. 'And sweeties,' he added,
expressively.
"I could feel Patty trembling,
and my own heart beat fast. The thought
which agitated us both was this: 'Was Father
Christmas bringing the
tree to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty
also, kept us from
asking outright.
"Only when the old man
shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, I
cried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?'
"'I'm coming back by and by,'
said he.
"'How soon?' cried Patty.
"'About four o'clock,' said the
old man smiling. 'I'm only going up
yonder.'
"'Up yonder!' This puzzled us.
Father Christmas had pointed, but so
indefinitely that he might have been pointing to the
sky, or the
fields, or the little wood at the end of the
Squire's grounds. I
thought the latter, and suggested to Patty that
perhaps he had some
place underground like Aladdin's cave, where he got
the candles, and
all the pretty things for the tree. This idea
pleased us both, and we
amused ourselves by wondering what Old Father
Christmas would choose for us from his stores in
that wonderful hole where he dressed his
Christmas-trees.
"'I wonder, Patty,' said I,
'why there's no picture of Father
Christmas's dog in the book.' For at the old man's
heels in the lane
there crept a little brown and white spaniel looking
very dirty in the
snow.
"'Perhaps it's a new dog that
he's got to take care of his cave,' said
Patty.
"When we went indoors we
examined the picture afresh by the dim light
from the passage window, but there was no dog there.
"My father passed us at this
moment, and patted my head. 'Father,' said I, 'I
don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is
going to bring us a Christmas-tree to-night.'
"'Who's been telling you that?'
said my father.
But he passed on before I could
explain that we had seen Father
Christmas himself, and had had his word for it that
he would return at
four o'clock, and that the candles on his tree would
be lighted as soon
as it was dark.
"We hovered on the outskirts of
the rooms till four o'clock came. We
sat on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I
was just learning
to read; and Patty made herself giddy with
constantly looking up and
counting the four strokes, toward which the hour
hand slowly moved. We put our noses into the kitchen
now and then, to smell the cakes and get warm, and
anon we hung about the parlor door, and were most
unjustly accused of trying to peep. What did we care
what our mother was doing in the parlor?--we, who
had seen Old Father Christmas himself, and were
expecting him back again every moment!
"At last the church clock
struck. The sounds boomed heavily through the frost,
and Patty thought there were four of them. Then,
after due
choking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we
counted the strokes quite clearly--one! two! three!
four! Then we got Kitty's shawl once more, and stole
out into the backyard. We ran to our old place, and
peeped, but could see nothing.
"'We'd better get up on to the
wall,' I said; and with some difficulty
and distress from rubbing her bare knees against the
cold stone, and
getting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on to the
coping of the
little wall. I was just struggling after her, when
something warm and
something cold coming suddenly against the bare
calves of my legs made me shriek with fright. I came
down 'with a run' and bruised my knees, my elbows,
and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone up
Patty's sleeves went down my neck. Then I found that
the cold thing was a dog's nose and the warm thing
was his tongue; and Patty cried from her post of
observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog and he's
licking your legs.'
"It really was the dirty little
brown and white spaniel, and he
persisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and
making curious little
noises, that must have meant something if one had
known his language. I was rather harassed at the
moment. My legs were sore, I was a little
afraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of
sitting on the
wall without me.
'"You won't fall,' I said to
her. 'Get down, will you?' I said to the
dog.
"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a
wall,' said Patty.
"'Bow! wow!' said the dog.
"I pulled Patty down, and the
dog tried to pull me down; but when my
little sister was on her feet, to my relief, he
transferred his attentions to her. When he had
jumped at her, and licked her several times, he
turned around and ran away.
"'He's gone,' said I; 'I'm so
glad.'
"But even as I spoke he was
back again, crouching at Patty's feet, and
glaring at her with eyes the color of his ears.
"Now, Patty was very fond of
animals, and when the dog looked at her
she looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He
wants us to go with
him.'
"On which (as if he understood
our language, though we were ignorant of his) the
spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he
could; and
Patty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my
mind--'Perhaps
Father Christmas has sent him for us.'
"The idea was rather favored by
the fact he led us up the lane. Only a
little way; then he stopped by something lying in
the ditch--and once
more we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old Father
Christmas!'
"Returning from the Hall, the
old man had slipped upon a bit of ice,
and lay stunned in the snow.
"Patty began to cry. 'I think
he's dead!' she sobbed.
"'He is so very old, I don't
wonder,' I murmured; 'but perhaps he's
not. I'll fetch father.'
"My father and Kitty were soon
on the spot. Kitty was as strong as a
man; and they carried Father Christmas between them
into the kitchen.
There he quickly revived.
"I must do Kitty the justice to
say that she did not utter a word of
complaint at the disturbance of her labours; and
that she drew the old
man's chair close up to the oven with her own hand.
She was so much
affected by the behaviour of his dog that she
admitted him even to the
hearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how
matters stood, lay
down with her back so close to the spaniel's that
Kitty could not expel
one without kicking both.
"For our parts, we felt sadly
anxious about the tree; otherwise we
could have wished for no better treat than to sit at
Kitty's round
table taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual
fare of thick bread
and treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious
variety of cakes,
which were none the worse to us for being 'tasters
and wasters'--that
is, little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to
try the state of the
oven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt
in the baking.
"Well, there we sat, helping
Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, and
wondering in our hearts what could have become of
the tree.
"Patty and I felt a delicacy in
asking Old Father Christmas about the
tree. It was not until we had had tea three times
round, with tasters
and wasters to match, that Patty said very gently:
'It's quite dark
now.' And then she heaved a deep sigh.
"Burning anxiety overcame me. I
leaned toward Father Christmas, and
shouted--I had found out that it was needful to
shout--"'I suppose the
candles are on the tree now?'
"'Just about putting of 'em
on,' said Father Christmas.
"'And the presents, too?' said
Patty.
"'Aye, aye, TO be sure,' said
Father Christmas, and he smiled
delightfully.
"I was thinking what further
questions I might venture upon, when he
pushed his cup toward Patty saying, 'Since you are
so pressing, miss,
I'll take another dish.'
"And Kitty, swooping on us from
the oven, cried, 'Make yourself at
home, sir; there's more where these came from. Make
a long arm, Miss
Patty, and hand them cakes.'
"So we had to devote ourselves
to the duties of the table; and Patty,
holding the lid with one hand and pouring with the
other, supplied
Father Christmas's wants with a heavy heart.
"At last he was satisfied. I
said grace, during which he stood, and,
indeed, he stood for some time afterward with his
eyes shut--I fancy
under the impression that I was still speaking. He
had just said a
fervent 'amen,' and reseated himself, when my father
put his head into
the kitchen, and made this remarkable statement:
"'Old Father Christmas has sent
a tree to the young people.'
"Patty and I uttered a cry of
delight, and we forthwith danced round
the old man, saying, 'How nice; Oh, how kind of
you!' which I think
must have bewildered him, but he only smiled and
nodded.
"'Come along,' said my father.
'Come, children. Come, Reuben. Come,
Kitty.'
"And he went into the parlor,
and we all followed him.
"My godmother's picture of a
Christmas-tree was very pretty; and the
flames of the candles were so naturally done in red
and yellow that I
always wondered that they did not shine at night.
But the picture was
nothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost
in the dark, for, as
Kitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at
meal-times.' And
when the parlor door was thrown open, and the tree,
with lighted
tapers on all the branches, burst upon our view, the
blaze was
dazzling, and threw such a glory round the little
gifts, and the bags
of colored muslin, with acid drops and pink rose
drops and comfits
inside, as I shall never forget. We all got
something; and Patty and I,
at any rate, believed that the things came from the
stores of Old
Father Christmas. We were not undeceived even by his
gratefully
accepting a bundle of old clothes which had been
hastily put together
to form his present.
"We were all very happy; even
Kitty, I think, though she kept her
sleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge
enjoying herself (a weak
point in some energetic characters). She went back
to her oven before
the lights were out and the angel on the top of the
tree taken down.
She locked up her present (a little work-box) at
once. She often showed
it off afterward, but it was kept in the same bit of
tissue paper till
she died. Our presents certainly did not last so
long!
"The old man died about a week
afterward, so we never made his
acquaintance as a common personage. When he was
buried, his little dog came to us. I suppose he
remembered the hospitality he had received. Patty
adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always
looked on him with favor. I hoped during our rambles
together in the following summer that he would lead
us at last to the cave where Christmas-trees are
dressed. But he never did.
"Our parents often spoke of his
late master as 'old Reuben,' but
children are not easily disabused of a favorite
fancy, and in Patty's
thoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully
remembered as Old Father Christmas."
