"Well, and it wouldn't be a bad idea," thought the father. "There's my man, Fritz, he has been to the woods and cut a little tree for his children, and he seems to get a heap of pleasure out of it. Ah! if only little Polly had lived!" Strangely enough, the wife was thinking the same thing, as she sliced and sifted and weighed. "If little Polly had lived it would have been different, but we can't throw away money on nonsense for Ned."
A little red cloak flashed by the window, a little bright face, just about the age of "our little Polly's," peeped in at the door, and Mamie asked, "May I come in, Mrs. Huntley?"
"Certainly, child. Here's a fresh cookie. I suppose you're full of Christmas over at your house?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am! And I'm so sorry you don't keep it. What's the reason?"
"Don't keep it! Why, we have a regular Christmas dinner as sure as the 25th of December comes round, and Pa gives me a new dress, or something that I need, and we give Ned a suit of clothes, or shoes, or something that he needs."
"Well," said Mamie, "but I like our way best. May I tell you how we keep Christmas?"
"Well, you see, a good while before Christmas my mother begins to get ready, and I often see her hide up something quick when I come in, and then she laughs, and I think, 'Oh, yes, something's coming,' and then mother takes me in her lap and tells me how Jesus is coming, and how He did come. Do you know, Mrs. Huntley?"
"You see, He came a long, long time ago as a little baby. Mamma says that he began at the beginning, so that no little child could say, 'I can't be like Jesus, for Jesus never was so little as me.' That first birthday of His, there wasn't any room for Him at the tavern, and when the dear little baby Jesus was sleepy, they laid Him right in a stable manger, and the shepherds found Him lying there. Christmas is His Birthday, and I suppose they give all the children presents because Jesus loved little children, and then Santa Claus--Oh, Mrs. Huntley, that's what I came about, and I 'most forgot! If you don't keep Christmas--I mean as we do," she added, as Mrs. Huntley frowned, "and if you don't use the things that Santa Claus leaves here, can't I come over and get 'em? Only I'd rather Ned should have 'em."