The tree looked ghastly in the sunshine as it stood revealed with all its faded, dusty trimmings. Here and there among the branches were children's treasures, a small china doll, a tin horn, a drum and a calico elephant. Beside the tree were two small rocking-chairs and on the floor were books.
"Oh, dear," whispered Hannah.
"There, child," sympathized Mr. Hodgkins, "I didn't bring you in here to make you sad, but this is my secret, and I thought if you could see this room perhaps we might be better friends. I thought perhaps you would understand your queer neighbour."
"How did it happen?" asked the child, crossing the threshold and standing near the tree, still clinging to Stubbins.
"This room is just as we left it that Christmas Day. We drove to a neighbour's in the afternoon, and while there our little ones went on the ice to play and were drowned. I came into the house before their mother, and the first thing I did was to close this door. The piano was left open just as you see it now. We sang a Christmas hymn that morning. Two months later the children's mother died, and I was left alone.
"All this our neighbours know, but Hannah and Stubbins, no one ever knew we had a Christmas tree. At first I couldn't take it down nor touch a thing and so the months went by, and at last the years, until like the turtle I have crawled more and more into my shell."
"Oh, dear, dear!" repeated Hannah, no longer trying to keep back the tears.
"Don't cry, Hannah, don't cry, or I shall be sorry you know my secret. Now we'll shut the room again and forget it."
"Don't—don't shut the room up again, Mr. Hodgkins. I wouldn't, if I were you," declared Hannah. "Do you know what I'd do?" she continued, brushing away the tears and speaking earnestly.
"No, what would you do?"