THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLVII, Issue 21529, 16 December 1939, Page 26 (Supplement)

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

When your Christinas tree Is glistening with lighted candles and pretty toys, you may like to think of the story which is told of how the fir tree first came to bear such rare and delightful fruits at Christmas time. This is the story. Little Hans was standing at the window peeping out through a hole in the bearskin curtain. It was the day before Christmas; the snow was falling thickly, and the wind was howling so loudly that it almost frightened him. Every time it came roaring he held his breath and waited to see if the little wooden house would be blown away! But still he peeped out through the bearskin curtain. At last he called: “Here he is, mother, here he is!” and ran to the door to greet his father when he came in, Little Hans’ father was a forester; his work was to take care of the forest trees, sawing off dead branches and cutting down old trees. In the summer, when the weather was fine, little Hans often went out into the forest with him. Those were happy days, for then he could run barefoot upon the soft pine needles and sniff the pleasant spicy air. But in winter time he had to stay indoors, for snow and bad weather came early to the forest. But even so he enjoyed the winter, for his father stayed at home too, making wooden toys to sell in the little town down below in the valley. Often he let Hans help him, and what fun it was to be allowed to put the bright paint on the little toys. Then when enough toys were made, he helped to pack them carefully into a big box for his father to take down to the town. It was to the town that Hans’ father had gone this very day; and Hans was feeling lonely without him. for his mother was busy and had no time to spare to play with her little boy. So you can understand why Hans had been peeping so anxiously out of the window.

Hans’ father opened the door and came in. He was covered with snow and he looked very cold. Hans led him to the warm seat in the chimney corner and his mother hurried to get tea. "What a storm it is!” said Hans’ father. “The snow giants are surely busy to-day.” Little Hans waited eagerly, for he knew that after tea he would hear all about the snow giants, and many Christmas stories besides, for Christmas eve was the special night in all the year for story-telling, and If anyone could tell stories it was Hans’ father. So when tea was finished, they sat down by the glowing fire—Hans’ father one side, his mother the other, and Hans on a little stool In the middle. Outside, the wind was blowing colder and

louder, which reminded Hans of the storm again. “Tell me about the snow giants now,” said Hans. So the first story had to be a made-up

story about the snow giants (Hans’ father could make up stories as well as he could tell them). But after that he told the beautiful story of the first Chiistmas night and the coming of the little baby Jesus to Bethlehem, of the love of His dear mother, Mary, the wonder of the shepherds and the rich gifts of the wise men. One story led on to another and, after the story of the first • Christmas, Hans’ father told of some of the wondrous things that, some folk said, still happened on Christmas night—how the trees blossom as gaily as they do in Springtime; how the ox and ass bow down in their stalls in homage to the Baby King Jesus; and, most beautiful of all, how the angels, on Christmas night, take all the young babies to heaven to sing in the angel choir. So the story-telling went on till little Hans forgot all about the storm in his delight.

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door. "Goodness me!” said Hans’ mother. “Whoever can it be, com-

ing here on such a night as this?” And Hans thought of the long way a traveller would have to walk to reach their home, for it stood all alone on the edge of the forest. Hans’ father jumped up, lit a lantern, and went to the door; his mother followed and Hans peeped from behind them both. When the door was opened they all had a great surprise: on the doorstep stood a little child! He was very little, and he looked cold and hungry and tired; when the wind blew, he held his little thin coat tightly round him. Hans saw him look timidly up at his father and heard him say: “Please may I come in?” and Hans’ father said, “Yes, come in, my poor child!” and Hans’ mother went to find one of Hans’ little warm coats for him to put on. Hans himself led him to the warmest seat by the I

fire and said: “Little boy, sit down here and warm yourself." So there was no more story telling that night. When the little visitor had eaten the hot soup that Hans’ mother made for him and had warmed himself by the fire, it was time to go to bed. But where was the little boy to sleep?—that was the question that had been puzzling Hans all supper-time. For there were only two beds in Hans' little home, and he knew the little boy could not go out again that night into the wind and snow. Then an idea came to him: “Mother,” he whispered, “let the tired little boy sleep in my bed to-night.” So after supper, Hans’ mother tucked the little boy up in Hans’ own cosy bed and made a bed for Hans on the floor by the fire. And soon Hans was fast asleep. Now it seemed to Hans that all night long he was playing in pleasant sunlit meadows with little rosy laughing babies; and angels came and went and smiled at him as they passed. He could hear singing, too, soft and sweet and clear—Hans had never heard such sweet music, not even when his mother sang to him,

and he stayed to listen. Then the music grew clearer till it sounded close to his ear, and Hans woke up. It was almost daylight and Hans’ father and mother were standing by the window looking out. But Hans could still hear the singing—it was j coming from outside. So he jumped up and ran to look out, too. His father and mother did not speak to | him, but they were smiling with joy and they pointed to the sky. Hans looked up and saw a beautiful white , light, and in the light were angels singing the song he had heard in j his sleep. And below, on the white snow, the little child was standing, and his face was shining with joy. 1 At last, when the light and the singing had faded away, the little boy | came running forward. Now there | was a fir tree growing by the door and he ran to it and broke off a

branch. “See, Hans," he called, “you gave me a gift last night, and I want to give a present to you, too.” And he stooped down and planted the branch in the ground; it looked just like a Christmas tree, indeed, it was the first Christmas tree. Then he said: “Every Chrismas this little tree shall bear fruit for you, as much as ever you want.” And the Christmas tree was covered with glistening candles and with fruits and nuts. When Hans saw the pretty tree so loaded with gifts he ran out to thank the little boy—but he was gone; his father and mother could not tell him where or how. Presently his father said softly: “He must have been the Christ Child himself.” And they stood very still, wondering.

Every year it was as the Christ Child had promised. The Christmas tree glistened with lighted candles and with fruits and nuts. Soon the story was known in the little town below the hill, and fathers came to the forest to gather fir branches to make into Christmas trees for their own children, and mothers decked the branches with candles and glittering fruits and toys, in memory of the Christ Child’s present to little Hans. And still the story spread, and now girls and boys all over the world have Christmas trees that glisten with lighted candles and pretty toys at Christmas time.