Missus Olcott called her boys and bade them go to the pine woods and get the finest, handsomest young hemlock tree that they could find. Get one that is straight and tall, with well bowed branches on it, and put it where you can draw it under the wood shed. After dark, she added, the boys went to Pine Hill and there they picked out the finest young tree on all the hill and said we'll take this one. So with their hatchets they hewed it down and brought it
safely home. The next night, when all was dark, and when Roger was quietly sleeping in the adjoining room, they dragged the tree into the kitchen. It was too tall, so they took it out again and cut it off two or three feet at the base. Then they propped it up, and the curtains being down over the windows, and blankets being fastened over the curtains to prevent any one looking in, and the door being doubly barred to
prevent any one coming in. They all went to bed very early the next morning, while the stars shone on the snow covered hills, the same stars that shone sixteen hundred years before on the hills where Christ was born In Bethlehem, the little purit and mother in New England arose very softly. She went out and lit the kitchen fire anew from the ash covered embers. She fastened upon the twigs of the tree the gifts she had brought
in Boston for her boys and girl. Then she took as many as twenty pieces of candle and fixed them upon the branches. After that, she softly called Rupert, Robert and Lucie and told them to get up and come into the kitchen. Hurrying back, she began with a bit of burning stick to light the candles. Just as the last one was set aflame in trooped the three children. Before they had time to say a word, they were
silenced by their mother's warning. I wished to fetch Roger in and wake him up before it, she said, keep still till I come back. The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a blanket and gently carried by his mother into the beautiful presence. See Roger, my boy, see, she said, arousing him. It is Christmas morning. Now. In England they only have Christmas boughs, but here in New England we have a whole Christmas tree. Oh mother, he cried, Oh, Lucy,
is it really really true? And no dream at all? Yes, I see, I see, oh mother, it is so beautiful, for all the trees on all the hills lighted up that way when Christ was born. And mother, he added, clapping his little hands with joy at the thought. Why, yes, the stars did sing when Christ was born. They must be glad then, and keep Christmas too in heaven. I know they must. And there will be good times there, Yes,
said his mother, there will be good times there. Roger then said the boy, I shall aren't mind going now, I've seen the Christmas boar? Ay? What is that? Mother? What was it that they heard? That little Olcott home had never before seemed to tremble? So there were taps at the window, there were knocks at the door, and it was as yet scarcely the break of day. There were voices also shouting something to somebody. Shall I put out the candles? Mother, whispered Robin. What will they do
for us for having the tree? I wish we hadn't had it, regretted Rupert, while Lucy clung to her mother's gown and shrieked with all her strength. It's Indians, pale and white and still ready to meet her fate stood Missus Orcott, until out of the knocking, at the tapping at the door, her heart caught a sound. It was a voice calling, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Unbar the door. She
cried back to her boy's at your father calling. Down came the blankets, Up went the curtain, and through the door in in walk Captain Olcott, surrounded by every man and woman in Plymouth, who had heard at the break of day the glorious news that the expected ship had arrived at Boston, and with it the long lost Captain Olcott. For an instant nothing was thought of except the joyous welcoming of the Captain in his new home. What's this? What is it? What does it mean? Was asked again
and again when the first excitement was passed. As the tall young pines through aloft, its candles ablaze, its gifts still hanging. It's a welcome home to father, said Lucy, her only thought being to screen her mother. No child, no sterney spirt, missus Elcott, tell the truth. It's a Christmas tree, faltered poor Lucie. One and another and another.
Pilgrims and Puritans all drew near, with faces stern and forbidding, and gazed and gazed, until one, and another and yet another softened slowly into a smile as Little Roger's piping voice sung out, she made it for me, mother did. But you may have it now, and all the pretty things that are on it, too, because you've brought my father back again, if mother will let you, he added,
neither pilgrim or Puritan found at the gift. One man, the sternest there, broke off a little twig and said, I'll take it for the sake of the good old times at home. End of story.