As Christmas Day grew closer there was less work done and more play
engaged in by everybody on the plantation. Christmas Eve there was a
beautiful display of fireworks on the front lawn of the big house, and
everybody from the quarters came to see it, as well as the white folks.
Even Mammy June came up from her cabin by the stream, walking with
difficulty, for she was lame, and sat in state on the porch "with de
w'ite folks" to see the fireworks.

The old woman had taken a strong liking to the six little Bunkers and
she made as much of them as she did of the three little Armatages. But
the latter were not jealous at all. Phillis and Alice and Frane, Junior,
were likewise delighted with the children from the North.

Christmas Day dawned brilliantly, and although there was what Mr.
Armatage called "a tang" in the air it was so warm that it was hard for
the Bunker children to realize that this was the day that they expected
up North to be "white."

"A 'white Christmas' doesn't mean anything down here in Georgia," said
Daddy Bunker. "Though once in a while they have a little snow here. But
they never speak of it--not the natives. It is a sort of scandal in the
family," and he laughed, looking at Mother Bunker, who understood him if
the children did not.

But white or green, that Christmas Day was a delightful one. Even
without a gaudily lighted and trimmed tree, the Bunkers were pleased in
every way. Their presents were stacked with those belonging to the
Armatage children under the chimneypiece in the big front parlor, and
Mr. Armatage himself made the presentations.