Christmas is like cold buckwheat cakes and no syrup. Like an orange with
the juice all gone.

As for the tree, it was a spanker. We were dazed dumb for a minute when
the parlor doors leading into the sewing-room were opened. But never
being able to stay dumb long, I commenced to clap. Then everybody
clapped. Clapped so hard half the candles went out.

There wasn't a soul on the place that didn't get a present. This tree
was Miss Katherine's, not the Board's, and the presents bought with the
brother's money were things we could keep. Not things to put away and
pass on to somebody else next year. I almost had a fit when I found I
had roller-skates and a set of books too. Think of it! Roller-skates and
books! The rich brother sent those himself, and I'm still wondering why.

This was Miss Katherine's second Christmas with us, but the first she
had managed herself. Last Christmas she had been at the Asylum such a
short time she kept quiet, and just saw how things were done. And not
done. But this year she asked if she could provide the entertainment,
and the difference in these last two Christmases was like the difference
in the way things are done from love and duty.

And oh! love is so much the best!

I do believe I was the happiest child in all the world that day, and I
didn't come out of that cloud of glory until night. Mrs. Christopher
Pryor took me out.

She had come over with some of the Board ladies to see the tree and
things, and as she was going home I heard her say: