"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen a Christmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was the picture of that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother's picture-book.
"'What are those things on the tree?' I asked.
"'Candles,' said my father.
"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?'
"'Those are toys, my son.'
"'Are they ever taken off?'
"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand round the tree.'
"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voice murmured, 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'
"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?'
"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirty years, child,' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus one thousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great Christmas Day.