o look like fireworks!
Before ten o'clock every boy in the United States found out that his
Fourth of July things had turned into Christmas things; and then they
just sat down and cried--they were so mad. There are about twenty
million boys in the United States, and so you can imagine what a noise
they made. Some men got together before night, with a little powder
that hadn't turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they would
fire off _one_ cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a thousand
pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly
got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas
carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of
saying, "When in the course of human events it becomes necessary," he
was sure to sing, "God rest you, merry gentlemen." It was perfectly
awful.

The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"And how was it at Thanksgiving?"

Her papa hesitated. "Well, I'm almost afraid to tell you. I'm afraid
you'll think it's wicked."

"Well, tell, anyway," said the little girl.

Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all
these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had
talked about it in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play
with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not
been for her greediness it wouldn't have happened; and now, when it
came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have
squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all
the turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if
she would stop the Christmases, they would see about the gratitude.
Wasn't it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl began to
send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it.
But it didn't do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy's
house, but the girl that came to the door always said, "Not at home,"
or "Engaged," or "At dinner," or something like that; and so it went
on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve. The little girl
fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning--

"She found it was all nothing but a dream," suggested the little girl.

"No, indeed!" said her papa. "It was all every bit true!"

"Well, what _did_ she find out, then?"

"Why, that it wasn't Christmas at last, and wasn't ever going