Nathan. But, Mother, why do the good fathers never allow us to have a Christmas?
Roger. There can be no wrong in the things thou'st told us. Peace and good will and neighborliness.
Mother. But that was not all, Roger. With the feasting and merriment came much that the good Puritan Fathers did well to abolish.
Prudence [stands at Mother's knee]. But, Mother, isn't a birthday always a happy day? [Mother nods and smiles.] Then I should think the Lord Christ's birthday would be the very happiest day of all, and the good parson would like to have us sing and be joyful and glad.
Mother [kisses her]. Thou'rt too little to understand it yet, my Prudence. [Rises.] Come, we have sat too long with our talking. If our candles are not soon out, the tithing-man will be tapping at our door and reproving us. [Leads the two little girls and Nathan to door (L.)]. Come, children. Myles, see that the fire is safe. Roger, is the door fast? [Myles and Roger attend to the fire and the door.]
Indian. Must Eaglefeather go now?
Mother. Does thee think, lad, that savage though thou art, I would drive thee out into the bitter night? No, there is too much Yule-tide in our hearts for that! I have no bed for thee, but lay thee down by the fire and welcome. [Begins to wind the clock.] Boys, bring in some straw for a bed—— Stay a moment. Straw will not do. A chance spark from the fire might light it, and burn the house above our heads. There is an old mat in the shed without. See if you can find it.
[Exeunt all three boys; Mother takes down
candles from mantel and slowly extinguishes
one; holds the other in her hand, absently
snuffing it. Stands facing audience.
Mother [musingly]. I told little Prudence she was too young to understand, yet with my years, am I quite sure that I understand it myself? No, the good Fathers can never crush and kill the loving Christmas spirit. [Enter boys, quietly arranging mat, on which Indian stretches himself. Roger goes to fasten door.] Why should little children not be joyous and glad on the holy day? Why should not I help them to celebrate it? [Hesitates, then firmly and decidedly.] I believe—I will do it! Boys, come here. [Boys come to her side. Reuben Turner and Gershom Porter pass window, glance in curiously, then bend close, listening to all that is said.] Roger, what would thee and Myles say to a Christmas bough of our very own?
Myles. Oh, Mother!