Carol got a hammer and opened his big box. It was a magic lantern! He was wild with joy! He beat his fists on the top of the box! He stamped his feet! He came and burrowed his head in mother's shoulder. When Carol burrows his head in my mother's shoulder it means, "Call me anything you want to!"
Mother called him anything she wanted to. Right out loud before everybody. "Shining Face!" said my mother.
There were lots of other presents besides.
My father had made a giant kite for Carol. It looked nine feet tall. My father had made the dearest little wooden work-box for my mother. There was a blue silk waist for Rosalee. My mother had knitted me a doll! Its body was knitted! Its cheeks were knitted! Its nose was knitted! It was wonderful!
We ate the peppermint-candy canes. All the pink stripes. All the white stripes. We sang carols. We sang,
O, the foxes have holes! And the birds build their nests
In the crotch of the sycamore-tree!
But the Little Son of God had no place for His head
When He cameth to earth for me!
Rosalee's voice was like a lark in the sky. Carol's face looked like two larks in the sky.
The tame crow stayed in the kitchen. He was afraid of so many strangers. The tame coon wasn't afraid of anything. He crawled in and out of all the wrapping-papers, sniffing and sniffing. It made a lovely crackling sound.
Everything smelt like fir balsam. It was more beautiful every minute. Even after every last present was picked from the tree, the tree was still so fat and fluffy with tinsel and glass balls that it didn't look robbed at all.
We just sat back and stared at it.
Young Derry Willard stared only at the topmost branch.
Father looked suddenly at mother. Mother looked suddenly at Rosalee. Rosalee looked suddenly at Carol. Carol looked suddenly at me. I looked suddenly at the tame coon. The tame coon kept right on crackling through the wrapping-papers.
Young Derry Willard made a funny little face. There seemed to be dust in his throat. His voice was very dry. He laughed.
"My wish," said young Derry Willard, "seems to have been the only one that-didn't bloom."
I almost died with shame. Carol almost died with shame. In all that splendiferousness, in all that generosity, poor Derry Willard's gold-budded wish was the only one that hadn't at least bloomed into something!
Rosalee jumped up very suddenly and ran into the dining-room. She looked as tho she was going to cry.
Young Derry Willard followed her. He didn't run. He walked very slowly. He looked a little troubled.
Carol and I began at once to fold the wrapping-papers very usefully.
Young Derry Willard's father looked at my father. All of a sudden he wasn't laughing at all. Or rubbing his hands.
"I'm sorry, Dick," he said. "I've always rather calculated somehow on having my boy's wishes come true."
My father spoke a little sharply.
"You must have a lot of confidence," he said, "in your boy's wishes!"
"I have!" said young Derry Willard's father, quite simply. "He's a good boy! Not only clever, I mean, but good! Never yet have I known him to wish for anything that wasn't the best!"
"They're too young," said my father.
"Youth," said Derry Willard's father, "is the one defect I know of that is incontestably remedial."
"How can they possibly know their own minds?" demanded my father.
"No person," said Derry Willard's father, "knows his own mind until he's ready to die. But the sooner he knows his own heart the sooner he's ready to begin to live."
My father stirred in his chair. He lit a cigar. It went out. He lit it again. It went out again. He jerked his shoulders. He looked nervous. He talked about things that nobody was talking about at all.
"The young rascal dropped a hundred-dollar bill-when he was here before!" he said. He said it as tho it was something very wicked.
Young Derry Willard's father seemed perfectly cheerful.
"Did he really?" he said.
"It's a wonder the crow didn't eat it!" snapped my father.
"But even the crow wouldn't eat it, eh?" said Derry Willard's father. Quite suddenly he began to laugh again. He looked at my mother. He stopped laughing. His voice was very gentle. "Don't be-proud," he said. "Don't ever be proud." He threw out his hand as tho he was asking something. "What difference does anything make-in the whole world," he said, "except just young love-and old friendship?"
"Oh, pshaw," said father. "Oh, pshaw!"
Rosalee came and stood in the door. She looked only at mother. She had on a red coat. And a red hat. And red mittens.
"Derry Willard wants to see the Christmas-tree garden," she said. "May I go?"
Derry Willard stood just behind her. He had on his fur coat. He looked very hard at father. When he spoke he spoke only to father.
"Is it all right?" he said. "May I go?"
My father looked up. And then he looked down. He looked at Derry Willard's father. He threw out his hands as tho there was no place left to look. A little smile crept into one corner of his mouth. He tried to bite it. He couldn't.
"Oh-pshaw!" he said.
Carol and I went out to play. We thought we'd like to see the Christmas-tree garden too. The snow was almost as deep as our heads. All the evergreen trees were weighed down with snow. Their branches dragged on the ground. It was like walking through white plumes.
We found mother's Christmas-tree garden. We found Rosalee and young Derry Willard standing right in the middle of it. It was all caves and castles! It was like a whole magic little city all made out of white plumes! The sun came out and shone on it! Blue sky opened overhead! Everything crackled! It was more beautiful even than the Christmas tree in the parlor.
They didn't hear us.
Rosalee gave a funny little cry. It was like a sob. Only happy.
"I love Christmas!" she said.
"I love you!" said Derry Willard.
He snatched her in his arms and kissed her.
A great pine-tree shivered all its snow down on them like a veil.
We heard them laugh.
We ran back to the house. We ran just as fast as we could. It almost burst our lungs. We ran into the parlor. I didn't tell. Carol couldn't tell.
My father and young Derry Willard's father were talking and talking behind great clouds of smoke. The Yule log was blazing and sputtering all sorts of fireworks and colors. Only mother was watching it. She was paring apples as she watched. A little smile was in her eyes.
"What a wonderful-wonderful day to have it happen!" she said.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran upstairs and got my best story-book. I brought it down and opened it at the picture of the Fairy Prince. I laid it open like that in Mr. Willard's lap. I pointed at the picture.
"There!" I said.
Derry Willard's father put on his glasses and looked at the picture.
"Well, upon my soul," he said, "where did you get that?"
"It's my book," I said. "It's always been my book."
My father looked at the picture.
"Why, of all things," he said.
"Why, it looks exactly like Derry!" said my mother.
"It is Derry!" said Derry's father. "But don't ever let Derry know that you know that it is! It seems to tease him a little. It seems to tease him a very great deal in fact. Being all rigged out like that. The illustrator is a friend of mine. He spent the Winter in Cuba three or four years ago. And he painted the picture there."
I looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. It was an absolutely perfect Christmas! If this were true, then everything beautiful that there was in the world was true, too! Carol nudged me to speak.
"Then Derry really is a Fairy Prince?" I said.
Father started to speak.
Mother stopped him.