Hurrying back, she began, with a bit of a burning stick, to light the candles. Just as the last one was set aflame, in trooped the three children.
Before they had time to say a word, they were silenced by their mother's warning.
"I wish to fetch Roger in and wake him up before it," she said. "Keep still until I come back!"
The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a blanket and gently carried by his mother into the beautiful presence.
"See! Roger, my boy, see!" she said, arousing him. "It is Christmas morning now! In England they only have Christmas-boughs, but here in New England we have a whole Christmas-tree."
"O mother!" he cried. "O Lucy! Is it really, really true, and no dream at all? Yes, I see! I see! O mother, it is so beautiful! Were all the trees on all the hills lighted up that way when Christ was born? And, mother," he added, clapping his little hands with joy at the thought, "why, yes, the stars did sing when Christ was born! They must be glad, then, and keep Christmas, too, in heaven. I know they must, and there will be good times there."
"Yes," said his mother; "there will be good times there, Roger."
"Then," said the boy, "I sha'n't mind going, now that I've seen the Christmas-bough. I—What is that, mother?"
What was it that they heard? The little Olcott home had never before seemed to tremble so. There were taps at the window, there were knocks at the door—and it was as yet scarcely the break of day! There were voices also, shouting something to somebody.
"Shall I put out the candles, mother?" whispered Robert.