“The large French doll (she was very vain)
Settled her silk and lace;
The rocking horse of the tawny mane
Struck up a gentle pace;
And hither and thither the boughs among,
Sampling the goodies, tooth and tongue,
A mechanical monkey slid and swung
With agile monkey grace.
“All was still when the children came
With candle-stars adorning;
Somebody heard and hissed a name,
Whispered a sudden warning.
Now don’t get curious, people, please.
It’s generally known that things like these
Only happen to Christmas trees
Quite early Christmas morning.”
“I like that poem, Amos,” said Ann, “though I must say I don’t know how you found out all that.” Then she asked the little Christmas girl to repeat a poem.
“I know one about a different kind of Christmas tree,” the little girl said.
“Not a prettier tree than this one here in the room—surely!” cried Amos and Ann.
The Christmas child reflected. “Yes,” she said, “prettier, in a way, than this—because it was such a surprise. Listen.”
Then she told them about it.
“A little bird told a squirrel,
And a squirrel told a jay,
That a poor child lived in a city
Not very far away,
Who never at any Christmas
Had a Christmas tree in her home;
And the jay bird told a rabbit next,
And the rabbit told a gnome.
The gnome blew thrice on his fingers
For half a dozen elves,
And he told them the sorrowful rumor,
And he said, ‘Now stir yourselves!’