Have you always wondered where the Christmas presents come from? Well, I am going to tell you.

Of course, every one knows that Santa Claus brings them. He comes in a sleigh, driving eight reindeer, and carries the presents down the chimney in a pack on his back.

But where does he get them? That is the question. And the answer is,—in the garden of the Christmas Monks.

This garden is in a beautiful valley far away. But I must not tell you the name of the valley, for if I did you would all want to go there to live.

The Christmas Monks live in a stone castle covered with ivy and evergreen vines. There are holly wreaths in every window, and over the door is an arch, with “Merry Christmas” in evergreen letters.

The Christmas Monks wear white robes embroidered with gold, and they never go without a Christmas wreath on their heads. Every morning they sing a Christmas carol, and every evening they ring a Christmas chime on the bells.

For dinner every day they have roast goose and plum pudding and mince pie, and at night they set lighted candles in all of the windows.

But the best place of all is the garden, for that is where the Christmas presents grow.

It is a very large garden and is divided into beds, just like our vegetable gardens. Every spring the Monks go out to plow the ground and plant the Christmas present seeds.

There is one big bed for rocking-horses, another for drums, and another for sleds. The bed for the balls is not so large, and the top bed is quite small, because tops do not need much room when they are growing.

The rocking-horse seed looks like tiny rocking-horses. The Monks drop these seeds quite far apart, then they cover them up neatly with earth, and put up a signpost with “Rocking-horses” on it in evergreen letters.

Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furniture seed, the sled seed, and all the others.

Perhaps the prettiest part of the garden is the wax-doll bed. There are other beds for the rag dolls and the china dolls, and the rubber dolls, but, of course, wax dolls look much handsomer growing.

Wax dolls have to be planted very early in the season. The Monks sow them in rows in April and they begin to come up by the middle of May.

First there is a glimmer of gold, or brown, or black hair. Then the snowy foreheads appear, and the blue eyes and black eyes, and at last all the pretty heads are out of the ground and nodding and smiling to each other.

With their pink cheeks and bright eyes and curly hair, there is nothing so pretty as these little wax-doll heads peeping out of the ground.

Slowly the dolls grow taller and taller, and by Christmas they are all ready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, their dresses of pink or blue or white fluttering in the breeze.

Just about the prettiest sight in the world is the bed of wax dolls in the garden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time.

II—PETER AND THE PRINCE

All the children for miles around knew about this garden, of course, but they had never seen it. There is a thick hedge of Christmas trees all around it, and the gate where Santa Claus drives out is always locked with a golden key the moment he goes through.

So you can imagine what excitement there was among the boys when this notice was hung out on the hedge of Christmas trees:—

The notice was hung out about five o’clock in the evening, one day in February. By noon the next day all the neighborhood had seen it and read it.

Oh, what fun it would be to work in the garden of the Christmas Monks! There would be the dinner of roast goose and plum pudding every day. There would be the Christmas bells and the Christmas candles every night. And, of course, one could have all the toys he wanted, and pick them out himself.

So, from that very minute until the tenth of April, the boys were as good,—as good as gold.

Then, on the tenth of April, the big Santa Claus gate was opened, and such a crowd poured into the garden! The ground was plowed, but the seed had not been planted, so they could walk about everywhere.

Two of the Christmas Monks sat on a throne trimmed so thick with evergreens that it looked like a bird’s nest. They wore Christmas wreaths on their heads, and their eyes twinkled merrily.

The little boys stood in a long row before them, and the fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, grandmothers, and grandfathers looked on.

It was very sad! One boy had taken eggs from a bird’s nest; and another had frightened a cat. One boy didn’t help his mother, and another didn’t take good care of his little brother.

At last there were only two boys left,—Peter and the Prince.

Now Peter was really and truly a good boy, and always had been. And of course every one said the Prince was a good boy, because a King’s son must be good. So the Monks chose Peter and the Prince to work in the garden.

The next morning the two boys were dressed in white robes and green wreaths like the Monks. Then the Prince was sent to plant Noah’s-Ark seed and Peter was given picture-book seed.

Up and down they went, scattering the seeds. Peter sang a little song to himself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given him gold-watch seed.

By noon Peter had planted all his picture books and fastened up the card to mark them, but the Prince had planted only two rows of Noah’s Arks.

“We are going to have trouble with this boy,” said the Monks to each other. “We shall have to punish him.”

So that day the Prince had no Christmas dinner, and the next morning he finished planting the Noah’s-Ark seed.

But the very next day he was cross because he had to sow harmonicas instead of toy pianos, and had to be punished again. And so it was every other day through the whole summer.

So the Prince was very unhappy and wished he could run away, but Peter had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee all day, and loved to watch the Christmas gifts grow and blossom.

“They grow so slowly,” the Prince would say. “I thought I should have a bushel of new toys every month and not one have I had yet.” Then he would cry, and Peter would try to comfort him.

At last one day the Prince found a ladder in the tool house. The Monks were in the chapel, singing Christmas carols, and Peter was tuning the penny trumpets. It was a fine chance to run away. The Prince put the ladder against the Santa Claus gate, climbed up to the top, and slid down on the outside.

III—THE PRETTIEST DOLL

It was nearly Christmas now, and most of the toys had been gathered. The rocking-horses were still growing, and a few of the largest dolls; but the tops, balls, guns, blocks, and drums were all packed in baskets ready for Santa Claus.

One morning Peter was in the wax-doll bed, dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet voice saying, “Oh, Peter!”

He thought at first it was one of the dolls, but they could only say “Papa!” and “Mamma!”

“Here I am, Peter,” said the voice again, and what do you suppose Peter saw? It was his own dear little lame sister.

She was not any taller than the dolls around her, and she looked just like one of them with her pink cheeks and yellow hair. She stood there on her crutches, poor little thing, smiling lovingly at Peter.

“Oh, you darling,” cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. “How did you get in here?”

“I saw one of the Monks going past our house, so I ran out and followed him. When he came through the gate I came in, too, but he did not see me.”

“Well,” said Peter, “I don’t see what I can do with you. I can’t let you out, because the gate is locked, and I don’t know what the Monks will say.”

“Oh, I know!” cried the little girl. “I’ll stay out here in the garden. I can sleep every night in one of those beautiful dolls’ cradles over there, and you can bring me something to eat.”

“But the Monks come out every morning to look at the Christmas gifts, and they will see you,” said her brother.

“No, I’ll hide! Oh, Peter, here is a place where there isn’t any doll.”

“Yes, that doll didn’t come up.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do! I’ll stand here where the doll didn’t come up and try to look like one.”

“Perhaps you can do that,” said Peter. He was such a good boy that he didn’t want to do anything wrong, but he couldn’t help being glad to see his dear little sister.

He took food out to her every day, and she helped him in the garden. At night he tucked her into one of the dolls’ cradles with lace pillows and a quilt of rose-colored silk.

So they went on, day after day, and they were just as happy as they could be. Finally the day came for gathering the very last of the Christmas gifts, because in six days it would be Christmas, and Santa Claus had to start out in a day or two.

So the Monks went into the garden to be sure that everything was perfect, and one of them wore his spectacles. When he came to the bed where the biggest dolls were growing, there stood Peter’s sister, smiling and swinging on her crutches.

“Why, what is that!” said the Monk. “I thought that doll didn’t come up. There is a doll there—and a doll on crutches, too.”

Then he put out his hand to touch the doll and she jumped,—she couldn’t help it. The Monk jumped too, and his Christmas wreath fell off his head.

“The doll is alive!” he exclaimed. “I will pick her and show her to my brothers.”

Then the good father put on his Christmas wreath, took Peter’s little sister, crutches and all, in his arms, and carried her into the chapel.

IV—CHRISTMAS GIFTS

Soon the Monks came into the chapel to practise singing some new Christmas carols. There sat the near-sighted Monk, holding the big doll in his arms.

“Behold a miracle,” he said, holding up the doll. “Thou wilt remember that there was one doll planted which did not come up. Behold, in her place I have found this doll on crutches, which is—alive!”

“It is indeed a miracle,” said the Monk who was a doctor. He took the child in his arms and looked at the twisted ankle. “I think I can cure this lameness,” he said.

“Take her, then,” said the abbot, “and we will sing our Christmas carols joyously in her honor.”

Peter, of course, heard the Monks talking about the miracle, and he knew what it meant. He was very unhappy to think that he was deceiving them. At the same time he did not dare to tell them for fear the doctor would not try to cure his sister.

He worked hard picking the Christmas presents, and getting them ready for Santa Claus.

On Christmas Eve he was called into the chapel. The walls were covered with evergreen, and Christmas candles shone everywhere. There were Christmas wreaths in all the windows, and the Monks were singing a Christmas carol.

On a chair covered with green branches sat Peter’s little sister, dressed in white, with a wreath of holly berries on her head.

When the carol was ended, the Monks formed in a line with the abbot at the head. Each one had his hands full of the most beautiful Christmas presents. The abbot held a wax doll, the biggest and prettiest that grew in the garden.

When he held it out to the little girl, she drew back, and said in her sweet little voice, “Please, I’m not a miracle; I’m only Peter’s little sister.”

“Peter?” said the abbot; “the Peter who works in our garden?”

“Yes,” said the little sister.

The Monks looked at each other in dismay. This was not a miracle, it was only Peter’s little sister!

But the abbot of the Christmas Monks spoke to them. “This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a miracle. But she is sweet and beautiful, and we all love her.”

“Yes,” said the Christmas Monks, and they laid their presents down before her.

Peter was so happy he danced for joy. And when he found his little sister was cured of her lameness, he did not know what to do.

In the afternoon he took his sister and went home to see his father and mother. Santa Claus filled his sleigh with gifts and drove his reindeer down to the cottage.

Oh! it was such a happy day. There was so much to tell that they all talked at once. There was so much to see that their eyes ached with looking.

But in the palace of the King it was very different. The Prince was cross and unhappy. His old toys were broken. He was tired of his old games. There was no one for him to play with, and he didn’t have one single Christmas gift.

—Mary E. Wilkins (abridged and adapted).