“But Santa Claus always comes down the chimney, little Miss Wisdom,” said the boy, joining her. “How it snows! I’m so glad. ’Twill be such fun for us boys to-morrow.”
“’Tis the old woman up in the clouds, picking her goose for Christmas dinner,” said the little girl, laughing and singing,—
“Old woman, up in the clouds so high,
Making the feathers about us fly,
Picking your geese for Christmas pie,
Give me a piece of it by and by!”
Just then the mother was heard calling, and the children ran into the great parlor, all ablaze with light and beauty. In the center of all rose the beautiful Christmas tree, luminous with shining toys and many-hued candles.
Oh, it was delightful! To the little ones nothing could compare with the long-dreamed-of Christmas tree full of beautiful presents, just what they had been wanting, and hoped that wonderful old diviner, Santa Claus, would think of; and, of the whole year to them, no time was like the glorious Christmas season.
In quite another part of the town, very poor and squalid, lived the lace weavers.
In quaint old buildings, falling to ruins, they were huddled together, many wretched homes under one roof, yet even there they were trying to celebrate the birth of the blessed Christ child.