Presently, little Mary, who had been flitting in and out in a most extraordinary manner, came in once more, and made a significant motion to Dr. Grey, seeing which, the Doctor, with a merry look, took her hand and led her up in front of Berty’s couch.
“Berty,” said he, “you were wishing for a fairy godmother, I hear. Mrs. Flanagan was right about one thing, the fairies do not emigrate; but she was wrong about the other, for there is a tribe of them in America, wild as it is; and as fast as you little people come over they adopt you, because there are not Yankee children enough to keep them busy. So you see everybody has a fairy godmother, and all is right. Hearing, from Mrs. Flanagan, that you were in need of yours, I have been at some pains to find her, and here she is, very happy to make your acquaintance.”
Berty was quite puzzled by this speech, but Polly seemed to think it great fun; her eyes fairly danced with glee as she dropped Berty a queer little courtesy, and said, “Dr. Grey has summoned me, and I have come. You were wishing for a Christmas tree, he tells me. Ah, well; my children have but to wish, and, presto! it is here!” saying which she stamped with her little foot upon the floor, and, lo! the folding-doors of the mysterious parlor glided swiftly back and disclosed a wondrous sight,—a Christmas tree indeed, whose blazing tapers far outshone those which had lighted Berty’s dreams, whose graceful branches bent beneath their weight of generous fruit! While the children’s eyes were still dazzled with the burst of light, Dr. Grey and Mary stepped forward and took their stations on either side the tree. Then Mary turned to the wondering children, and pointing to it, said: “This, children, is Berty’s Christmas Gift to her little family.”
Berty was too happy, too thankful for words; she could only cast a grateful look at Dr. John, who, she felt sure, was at the bottom of it somehow; and Dr. John looked back at her with a merry twinkle in his eye, which she did not quite understand. The children, meanwhile, were pressing round the tree, and devouring it with eager, wondering eyes.
“It is finer than the Westermann’s, Lina,” said Gottlieb, at last.
“But where is the Christ-child, Lieb?” said little Rosa. “I don’t see him at all.”
“But he is here, Rosa,” said Dr. John. “He is here, though you do not see him. It is he who put it into the heart of Berty’s fairy godmother here to give you this pleasure.”
“Now,” said Mary, who seemed somehow to be in a great hurry, “if you have gazed your fill, perhaps you would like me to gather you some fruit;” and she took a long, hooked stick which leaned against the wall beside her, and began to take off the presents from the tree.
I shall not trouble myself to describe those presents. Christmas trees, I am happy to say, are getting very common. A bountiful crop of them springs up every year all over the land, and I dare say there are none of you who have not assisted in stripping at least one. So I shall only tell you that every one of the children got a very satisfactory share of the magical fruit,—every one except Berty. Strange to say there seemed to be no present for Berty. She never thought of wishing for one; it was all just as she had planned it herself, and she was heartily satisfied; but so were not the others. Tim especially, who had gotten a bountiful share himself, was greatly concerned about Berty; and at last, when the branches were nearly bare, and nothing was yet forthcoming, he bethought himself of speaking to Dr. Grey. It might have been forgotten, though Tim did not see how that could be. At any rate, he knew Dr. John would never be content to have Berty neglected, any more than he. So he made his way through the children to where the Doctor still stood beside the tree.
“Dr. Grey,” he whispered, “has Miss Mary forgotten Berty, d’ye think—or what?”