"My sister Patty was six years old. We loved each other dearly. The
picture-book was almost as much hers as mine. We sat so long together
on one big footstool by the fire, with our arms round each other, and
the book resting on our knees, that Kitty called down blessings on my
godmother's head for having sent a volume that kept us both so long
out of mischief.
"'If books was allus as useful as that, they'd do for me,' said she;
and though this speech did not mean much, it was a great deal for
Kitty to say; since, not being herself an educated person, she
naturally thought that 'little enough good comes of larning.'
"Patty and I had our favourites amongst the pictures. Bogy, now, was a
character one did not care to think about too near bed-time. I was
tired of Guy Fawkes, and thought he looked more natural made of straw,
as Dick did him. The Dunce was a little too personal; but Old Father
Christmas took our hearts by storm; we had never seen anything like
him, though now-a-days you may get a plaster figure of him in any
toy-shop at Christmas-time, with hair and beard like cotton-wool, and
a Christmas-tree in his hand.
"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 of 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 round
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 parlour (we had only one
parlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the
kitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. 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 book; 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 one only knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose,"
added Godfather Garbel, chuckling and rubbing his own, which was large
and rather red.
"Well," he continued, "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 'kinkcough,' 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 grey
sky. The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gay
things to be seen were the red berries on the holly hedge, in the
little lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to the
Hall--and a fat robin redbreast who was staring at me. I was watching
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!'