“Whut else is dey ter light up de Lawd’s birfday party wid? I’ll show yer dem candles de nex’ time we goes on Tink’r Knob. I tell yer whin de Roost’r telerfome: ‘Come on ter de Crismus t-r-e-e-,’ ‘Come on ter de Crismus t-r-e-e-!’ dey all comes er tar’in’. Ole man Roost’r, he fly up ter de highes’ rock on Tink’r Knob, an’ watch de clouds. Miss Moon, she bus’ th’u er big Black bank uv ’em an’ tetch off ev’y candle on dat tree—an’ ole man Roost’r say, ‘Blessed be de L-a-w-d,’ an’ all de beastes draps on der knees, an’ says der pra’rs. Den dey gits up an’ ketches one nuth’r Crismus gif’, an’ den dey gits der pres’nts.”
“Mammy, did Ned Dog, an’ Lilly Dove, an’ Big Eye Buzzard get sumthin’?” Willis wanted to remember all.
“No,” interrupted Mary Van, shaking her finger at Willis. “Mammy said the bad ones couldn’t come, and Big Eye was bad.”
“Well, I tell yer, dey let Big Eye come an’ clean up de scraps fur ’em, ’caze he done name hisse’f Buzzard ergin, an’ he wus gittin’ long bet’r.”
“Mammy, did everyone that was good get something?”
“Not ev’y single one, baby. Hit hap’n dat Sandy Claus make some mouty bad meestakes, ev’y now an’ den. Some time he give bad fokes de things de good fokes orter have. You ’memb’rs dem fire crack’rs dat lit’le yaller dog ax us ter take off’n his tail las’ Crismus? Well, dat Weed boy’s ole bad bull dog gits er heap mo’n him.”
“Mammy, let Yellow Doggie come to Mister Tall Pine’s Christmas Tree,” begged Willis.
“He say he ruth’r eat Crismus dinn’r wid Ned Dog. But dar’s er heap er yall’r dogs ’mongst fokes I tell yer. Dat po’ white ’ooman come beggin’ hyah las’ week, wid dat raggity boy tryin’ ter hope car’y de po’ lit’le ha’f froz’ baby. No, Lawd,” she shook her head, “dem fokes ruth’r have er piece er corn bread, an’ er han’full er fier’n all de Crismus tree yer kin stick at ’em.” The mental picture of the woman was still vivid, for she continued: “I speck dat ’ooman got dat quilt yer ma give her, wrop roun’ her right now, squattin’ close ter some hot ashes in de fierplace, wid de baby squose up right clost ter her, an’ dat boy gittin’ clost es he kin ter her und’r de quilt—an’ I speck he say,
“‘Ma, doan yer wush we had er stockin’ ter hang up, so Sandy Claus ’ud bring us sumpin’?’
“I speck his ma hug him tight wid one arm, an’ moan, an’ moan, an’ moan, an’ I speck de boy say: