dark. In both wings of the house the shutters were closed tight. In one
the burgomasterinde was presumably busy with her household duties; in
the other the burgomaster was occupied with a task that would have made
the old clerk doubt the evidence of his eyes had he himself not been at
that moment engaged in the same identical business at his own home. Two
small Christmas trees stood upon the table, from which law books and
legal papers had been cleared with an unceremonious haste that had left
them in an undignified heap on the floor. The burgomaster between them
was fixing colored wax candles, cornucopias, and paper dolls in their
branches. He eyed a bag of oranges ruefully. They were too heavy for
the little trees, but then they would do to bank about the roots. To
be sure, they had left these behind in the woods, but the fact was not
apparent: each little tree was planted in a huge flower-pot, as Jens
had received his orders, just as if it had grown there.
One brief moment the burgomaster paused in his absurd task. It was
when he had put the last candle in place that something occurred to
him which made him stand awhile in deep thought, gazing fixedly at
the trees. Then he went to his desk, and from a back drawer, seldom
used, took out something that shone like silver in the light. Perhaps
it was that which made him screen his eyes with his hand when he saw
it. It was a little silver star, such as many a Christmas tree bore at
its top that night to tell the children of the Star of Bethlehem. The
burgomaster sat and looked at it while the furrow grew deeper in his
forehead; then he put it back gently into its envelop and closed the
desk.
It was nearly time for dinner when he straightened up and heaved a sigh
of contentment. The candles on one of the little trees were lighted,
and all was ready.
"If only," he said uncertainly--"if only she is not in now." Could some
good fairy have given him second sight to pierce the walls between his
office and his wife's room, what he saw there would certainly have made
him believe he had taken leave of his senses. Jens had just gone out
with one Christmas tree, all hung with children's toys. On the table
stood the other in its pot, a vision of beauty. The mistress of the
house sat before it with a little box in her lap from which she took
one cherished trinket after another, last of all a silvery angel with
folded wings. A tear fell upon it as she set it in the tree, but she
wiped this away and stood back, surveying her work with happy eyes. It
_was_ beautiful.
"I wonder where Jonas is. I haven't heard his step for an hour." She
listened at the door. All was quiet. "I will just carry it over and
surprise him when he comes in." And she went out into the hall with her
shining burden.
At that precise moment the door of the office was opened, and the
burgomaster came out, carrying his Christmas tree. They met upon the
landing. For a full minute they stood looking at each other in stunned
silence. It was the burgomaster who broke it.
"You were so lonely," he said huskily, "and I thought of our Gertrude."
She put down her tree, and went to him.
"Look, Jonas," she said, with her head on his shoulder, and pointed
where it stood. He saw through blurring tears the child's precious
belongings from her last Christmas,--their last Christmas,--and he bent
down and kissed her.
"I know," he said simply; "it was Black Hans' little Annie. See!" He
drew her into his office, "I made one for her. Jens shall take it over."
She hid her face on his breast. "He just went with one from me," she
sobbed, struggling between laughter and tears; and as he started, she
hugged him close. "But we need this one. I tell you, Jonas, what we
will do: we will send it to Black Hans in the jail."
And even so it came to pass. To Jens's final and utter stupefaction, he
was bidden to carry the fourth and last of the trees to the lock-up,
where it cheered Black Hans that Christmas eve. It was noticed both by
the turnkey and by the poacher that it bore a bright silver star at the
top, but neither could know that it was to be a star of hope indeed for
little Annie and her dark home. For so it had been settled between the
burgomaster and his wife, as they pinned it on together and wished each
other a right Merry Christmas, with many, many more to come, that happy
night.