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There certainly was something the matter with the Christmas tree that year.

It grew. But it didn’t grow very fast.

My father said that perhaps the fertilizer hadn’t been rich enough.

My mother said that maybe all Christmas trees were blooming rather late this year. Seasons changed so.

My father and mother didn’t go away to town at all. Not for a single day.

Late at night after we’d gone to bed we heard them hammering things and running the sewing-machine.

Carol thought it smelt like kites.

Rosalee said it sounded to her like a blue silk waist.

It looked like a worry to me.

It got colder and colder. It snowed and snowed.

Christmas eve it snowed some more. It was beautiful. We were very much excited. We clapped our hands. We stood at the window to see how white the world was. I thought about the wise men’s camels. I wondered if they could carry snow in their stomachs as well as rain. Mother said camels were tropics and didn’t know anything about snow. It seemed queer.

A sleigh drove up to the door. There were three men in it. Two of them got out. The first one was young Derry Willard. It was a fur coat that he had on. He was full of bundles. My father gave one gasp.

“The–the impudent young–” gasped my father.

We ran to the door. The second man looked just exactly like young Derry Willard except that he had on a gray beard and a gray slouch hat. He looked like the picture of “a planter” in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” My father and he took just one look at each other. And then suddenly they began to pound each other on the back and to hug each other. “Hello, old top!” they shouted. “Hello–hello–hello!” Derry Willard’s father cried a little. Everybody cried a little or shouted or pounded somebody on the back except young Derry Willard and Rosalee. Young Derry Willard and Rosalee just stood and looked at each other.

“Well–well–well!” said Derry Willard’s father over and over and over. “Twenty years! Twenty years!” The front hall was full of bundles! We fell on them when we stepped. And we fell on new ones when we tried to get up. Whenever Derry Willard’s father wasn’t crying he was laughing! “So this is the wife?” he said. “And these are the children? Which is Rosalee? Ah! A very pretty girl! But not as pretty as your wife!” he laughed. “Twenty years! Twenty years!” he began all over again. “A bit informal, eh? Descending on you like this? But I couldn’t resist the temptation after I’d seen Derry. We Southerners, you know! Our impulses are romantic! Tuck us away anywhere! Or turn us out–if you must!”

My father was like a wild man for joy! He forgot all about everything except “twenty years ago.”

We had to put the two Mr. Derry Willards to bed in the parlor. There was no other room. They insisted on sleeping with the Christmas tree. They had camped under every kind of branch and twig in the world, they said. But never had they camped under a Christmas tree.

Father talked and talked and talked! Derry Willard’s father talked and talked and talked! It was about college! It was about girls! It was about boys! It was about all sorts of pranks! Not any of it was about studies! Mother sat and laughed at them!

Rosalee and young Derry Willard sat and looked at each other. Carol and I played checkers. Everybody forgot us. I don’t know who put me to bed.

When we came down-stairs the next morning and went into the parlor to see the Christmas tree we screamed!

Every single weeney-teeny branch of it had sprouted tinsel tassels! There were tinsel stars all over it! Red candles were blazing! Glass icicles glistened! There were candy canes! There were tin trumpets! Little white-paper presents stuck out everywhere through the branches! Big white presents piled like a snowdrift all around the base of the tree!