It was lucky for the Children of the Valley, as Maria said, that Master Will got home from the woods and put his heart into his books before Christmas-time. “There’d been no Christmas-tree,” said she, “if that child’d got lost in the woods. I declare it makes my blood run cold a-thinkin’ of them catamounts!”

But still the very day before Christmas had arrived, and the expectant little southern children saw with some dismay no preparations for a Christmas-tree about the house. They had, themselves, prepared the most elaborate gifts in their power for the grown-up people. Jack had made a wooden paper-knife for Old Uncle, whittling and sand-papering it to a fine edge; and Janet had made Uncle Billy a pen-wiper, and for its central ornament Ally had given her tiny glass goose, which Janet had fastened in; and Essie had made Aunt Susan a blotter, and pasted her best paper doll on the cover, daubing herself stiff with the mucilage. But except for the scarf of pink wool for Aunt Rose, in the knitting of which all had taken turns, they had not been able to do more; and they had decided to make an exchange of possessions for each other.

“I’d rather give the paper-cutter to Will, now he’s going to college,” said Jack, a little wistfully, as twilight fell on Christmas Eve, and they were feeling a trifle misused. “Old Uncle won’t want it, and he’ll only grunt.”

“He’ll be very pleased inside,” said Essie.

“Hurrah!” said Will, coming in just then, “you’re all to be allowed to sit up, and we’re all bound for a big sleigh-ride as soon as supper’s over!”

“Isn’t there any Christmas-tree?” asked Essie.

“Oh, yes! there’ll be a Christmas-tree,” said Will.

And then Aunt Rose swept them all out to their hot milk and zweibach, and the thin pancakes rolled in jelly, which were a special treat. And after that, there was a wild hustling up-stairs and into thick clothes and wraps; and the sleigh-bells were jangling and wrangling, and they were rushing out and in, and the hot soap-stones were at their feet, and the furs tucked round them, and Pincher was driving—and it was certain that the whole household were along, either in the big sleigh or the little ones, except Uncle Billy and Charlie.

The dusk was all about them and clear starlight over head; and soon silence fell upon the wondering little ones who seemed to themselves to be on the edge of some strange beautiful unknown other world.

Pincher brought the horses to a walk, and drove them so carefully that there was hardly a tinkle of harness or bells as they climbed the steep snowy way. Far off and softly came the silvery peal from the tower of the little church below them. They wound round a projecting wall of the mountain—and there on the side of the great cliff, blazing with a myriad colored lights that hung on its huge boughs like some wonderful fruit, was the ancient fir-tree that had weathered centuries of storm and shine, holding up all its splendor to the dark skies, and answering the distant stars with emerald and ruby and topaz and sapphire sparks.

There was a shout from every voice, and then silence again. Essie burst into tears.

“What in gracious you crying for?” asked Will, leaning back to whisper.

“Oh! it’s so beautiful,” said Essie. “I can’t bear it.”

“It is so beautiful,” said Ally, hugging her. “Oh, Essie! look again! and look again!”

And they looked again, and again; and they drove slowly up the way to see it from all sides, making night glorious, and turned and drove slowly back. And all the time the Christmas bells rang out below, and the great tree held out its proud branches clad in living rainbows. Then, with many cries of joy, they went down and left its last sparkle round the cliff behind them.

“Hold on!” cried a voice they knew. “If you would hear something to your advantage, hold on!” And after a little delay, Uncle Billy and Charlie came round the cliff, lugging a big box along, with as much of the paraphernalia of the battery as they could bring, and got it in one of the sleighs. Then after going back up the height for the rest, they piled into the sleigh with the children, and Uncle Billy took the reins and drove down the hill, as Will said, as if a comet were after them, while all of them sang at the top of their sweet shrill voices, “When shepherds watched their flocks by night.”

“Oh! do you suppose,” said Janet, when they had finished singing, “that what the shepherds saw was more beautiful than that tree full of jewels?”

“Of course it was,” said Essie; “angels are more beautiful than anything—up in the dark sky—angels that the glory shone round!”

“Well, children,” said Old Uncle when the sleighs stopped at the door, “how do you like my sort of a Christmas-tree?”

“O Uncle! Old Uncle! we like it; there was never anything so fine! It was just—just—”

“So I think,” said he; “that fills my idea of a Christmas-tree. Not looking out for gifts, but just making the tree show forth praise. Still I suppose you youngsters would like a surprise or two, and Santa Claus would be disappointed if he found no stockings at the chimney-side. Hang them all up and see what will happen.”

And all of a sudden Old Uncle was swarmed over by a multitude of red sleeves and mittens, and cold cheeks and warm kisses, that took him as much by surprise as in a minute or two it did the owners of the sleeves and mittens and cheeks—to think they had ventured it!