The Childrens Book of Christmas Stories | Page 6

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.

III. THE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE*
* From "The Pot of Gold , copyright by Lothrop, Lee & Shepherd Co.
MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN
On Christmas Eve the Mayor's stately mansion presented a beautiful
appearance. There were rows of different coloured wax candles burning
in every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of
gold and crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily,
and lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music.
There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and
carriages were constantly arriving and fresh guests tripping over them.
They were all children. The Mayor was giving a Christmas Masquerade
tonight to all the children in the city, the poor as well as the rich. The
preparation for this ball had been making an immense sensation for the
last three months. Placards had been up in the most conspicuous points

in the city, and all the daily newspapers had at least a column devoted
to it, headed with "THE MAYOR'S CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE,"
in very large letters.
The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children
whose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes
were directed to be sent in to him.
Of course there was great excitement among the regular costumers of
the city, and they all resolved to vie with one another in being the most
popular, and the best patronized on this gala occasion. But the placards
and the notices had not been out a week before a new Costumer
appeared who cast all the others into the shade directly. He set up his
shop on the corner of one of the principal streets, and hung up his
beautiful costumes in the windows. He was a little fellow, not much
bigger than a boy of ten. His cheeks were as red as roses, and he had on
a long curling wig as white as snow. He wore a suit