“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!
XI.
AUNT ROSE AND THE CHILDREN.
The happy winter wore away. And one March day, under the lee of a rock, they found what looked like a little purple rose, the first hepatica, blooming in the wind and frost and raw air. The brooks were breaking their ice chains then, and racing away; and there was a sound of frogs singing, like silver bells; and look! here was a robin, and there went the flash of a blue-bird’s wing. The buds that had pushed off the leaves last fall were swelling; the air was full of wings, full of song; the rocks were white with saxifrage, the grass slopes were thick with violets; and then came the rich pungent lilac scent every time the old trees shook their purple plumes in the wind; and after that the world looked as if it had spread its wings in the flowering of the apple-orchards; then came the bramble-roses, and summer was warm on all the hills.
“I don’t know how there can be anything more beautiful than summer in this valley between the hills,” said Aunt Rose. “How I wish all the children in the dark crowded city could have such air and sunshine!”
“Oh, Aunt Rose, I wish so too!” said Essie.