Wild Wood - A Novel #272236

Nightingale to fill the air with its melodious trill all was quiet, Old King Winter had waved his wand over all, frozen the streams, and stopped the mill-wheel. King Christmas had come, with his jolly face and white locks, a wreath of holly and red berries round his head, holding a plum pudding in his hand. How nice it is to see him; he only comes once a year, and everyone should be pleased and ready to welcome him. It does not follow that plenty of money is required to make a happy Christmas — happiness agrees very well with poverty, because no one need ever be so poor as to not have a shelter or a little fire. And then suppose the room is bare of furniture, sit on the floor; then if there be no plum pudding or roast beef, eat bread, there is always plenty of that to be got, and cheap too. But how is it we hear doleful tales of no fire, no bread, no any.