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Allen, James Lane, 1849-1925

"Bride of the Mistletoe"

It was beyond its intelligence to
understand how nature could create it for Summer and then take Summer
away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a sun so
true could shine on a world so false.
Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling
paths. After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with
fireside warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat,
rushed out of the front door pursued by a little soldier sternly
booted and capped and gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going
at it furiously. Watching them through a window a little girl, dancing
a dreamy measure of her own, ever turned inward and beckoned to some
one to come and look--beckoned in vain.
All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little
girl played with the doll--hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient
sacrifice, the emblem of the world's new mercy. Along the turnpike
sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the
shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the
shining valleys.
Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day!
One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its
surroundings; just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low,
thick, covered with snow except where a bough had been broken off for
decorating the house; here owing to the steepness the snow slid
off.


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