Merrythought! send for Mrs.
Christmas, my house-keeper. The child may be frightened at our grim
faces. But what a pretty little dear it is!" said Claus, in the kindest
tones, putting out his big fat hand to caress her. To Boreas's surprise
Flax-Flower did not shrink from his salute, but with a bright smile
bounded into the old man's arms and kissed him.

Turning away with a pang of jealousy, Boreas muttered, "She wouldn't
kiss _me_; but no matter. That settles it. She's in the right place, and
I'll leave her. Farewell, Claus; I'm off. No, no; I've no time for
eating and drinking. Frozen Nose will be thundering at my absence
already. There's a storm brewing even now; I feel it in my bones." So
saying, he tramped noisily out of the apartment, nearly knocking over a
fleshy dame in ruffled cap and whitest apron, whose rosy cheeks were
like winter apples, and who bore in her hands a huge mince-pie in which
was stuck a sprig of mistletoe.

CHAPTER II

"Come mother, cease thy spinning, and look at the lovely tree that Olaf
has brought thee; it stands as straight as himself in the best room.
Surely thou wilt deck it to please him."

"Ah, Fritz! how can I?" said the forester's wife, rising from her wheel,
with a sad but sweet smile, in obedience to her husbands wishes.

"But there is surely no reason for longer indulging thy grief. Our
child is too happy in heaven to wish her return to earth, and whatever
the good God sends of pleasure or innocent mirth we should take with
thankfulness. Look at the tree; it is the very image of Olaf's own
strong youth. Make it pretty to-night, and he will be glad. A good
friend is he for two lonely beings like us to possess."

"You are right, Fritz," said the wife, wiping a tear from her eyes. "For
Olaf's sake I will dress the tree and bake a cake." So saying, she
tidied up her best parlor, and took from a brass-bound chest the gay
ribbons and trinkets which had not been used since the Christmas eve her
little one last spent on earth.

Very lonely and sad would these two people have been but for Olaf, the
son of their nearest neighbor. It was he whose clear ringing voice might
be heard in the forest when returning from his work, and Fritz said that
it made labor light but to hear him. It was he, too, who, when Fritz had
been lamed by the fall of a tree, had borne him home on his strong young
shoulders; so it was no wonder that the good wife was grateful to him.
Often at evening