THE night before Christmas, Billy Jr. was prowling around, feeling lonely and unhappy and wishing that he were back again with his father and mother for the holidays at least. Chancing to look through a window from which the light was streaming, what should he see but a beautiful Christmas tree! And more wonderful still, who do you suppose was trimming it? None other than old Santa Claus himself. Billy quickly stationed himself directly in front of the window and gazed with longing eyes upon the many attractive gifts being tied upon the tree. “Oh, my! Just wouldn’t I like to get a nibble at that big red apple hanging near the very top of the tree. Yes, and there is a fine cornucopia filled with all kinds of goodies that I could eat if I had the chance, and without a grain of salt, either.” But Santa Claus continued his work, utterly unconscious of the greedy eyes blinking at him from the outer darkness.
Presently Billy Jr. said, “I wonder whose house this is and how many children live here.” Almost as if in answer to his question a quick step sounded on the walk, and to his utter disgust, the hated fireman ascended the steps and entered the house with his latch key.
“Well, I declare,” said Billy, “it’s a shame for a man like that to have such a lovely Christmas tree. I’ll venture to say that Santa Claus does not know how unkind he is to animals or he would never help him to trim his tree.”
As soon as the last gift was disposed of, Santa Claus raised the window to keep the room cool so that the tree might not wilt, then he quickly put out the lights; and hark! I hear sleigh bells! Yes, there he goes with his reindeer over the tops of the houses. Swiftly and merrily he drives, stopping at every fireside to bring joy and some little remembrance of his good will to all.
“Now that he has gone and the window is open, what is to hinder me from climbing in and tasting a few of the Christmas dainties? I am sure a few would not be missed and I can see my way clearly, as that electric light across the street shines straight into the room, making it as light as day. There is a packing box just under the window that I can jump upon, and from that I can easily get into the window.” So, without any more ado Billy climbed in and at once began to eat the dainties he had coveted.
The first thing he took was the big red apple, then the cornucopia of nuts and candies, next he licked a lemon-candy dog, after this he ate a popcorn ball or two, then he spied a bunch of yellow carrots on an upper branch. These he must have (not knowing that they were made of silk and to be used as a pin cushion). So he raised himself on his hind legs and tried to reach them, but they were just beyond his nose. He gave a little spring, but missed again, and, worse still, his feet struck the table which the tree stood upon and over it went, burying the luckless Billy under it, while tin horns, candies, toy horses, and all, rattled round him in hopeless confusion. The noise awoke the fireman, and he and his wife came hurrying into the room, thinking to find burglars. They did not see Billy, for as they opened the door he jumped out of the window, and to this day they do not know who upset the Christmas tree.
One day when Billy was wandering idly about he saw one of the firemen walking across lots, carrying a bundle which he knew was intended for the washerwoman. Having nothing special to do, he followed and soon overtook him. The fireman gave him a chew of tobacco and was surprised to find that instead of spluttering, making a fuss, and spitting it out of his mouth, he chewed it like an old-timer and seemed to enjoy it, his beard going up and down in that queer way that men’s do when they are chewing.
“Well, Billy, how are you, and how has the world been using you since last we met? Let me see, the last time I saw you, you were trying to decide whether to come down a flight of stairs or whether to slide down a greased pole, were you not?” And with such pleasant converse the man and goat walked along side by side until they reached the washerwoman’s shanty. She was a jolly, red-faced Irishwoman, somewhat pie-crusty in temper, but nevertheless an excellent laundress, and all would have been well had not Billy accidentally tramped with his muddy feet on some fine clothes that had been spread on the grass to whiten. Seeing his footmarks upon the dainty pieces with which she had taken such pains, she snatched up a dipper of hot water and threw it at Billy, calling out as she did so:
“You miserable baste, if ye come around here with your dirty fate again, a-spilin’ my nice, clean clothes, I’ll brake yer ugly neck fer ye, that I will. Bedad it’s no fun doin’ thim fine petticoats agin. Sure and it ain’t.”