December, 1936
T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
471
Junior King's Business
By M A RTH A S. HOO KER
Putnam Studios
CHR ISTM A S S O N G FOR CH ILDREN By HELEN FRAZEE-BOWER Green trees talk at Christmas time, Low and very low. Wist ye what the green trees say, Children, do you know? Speak they of a golden room, Toys upon the floor, Twinkle-candles in a row? Yes, of these— and more. Green trees talk at Christmas time, Low and very low, O f the world's first Christmas tree, Long and long ago. There was neither golden room, Toy, nor candle-gleam; But there was a Light indeed— Wist ye of its beam? It was still, oh very still, Out on Calvary When God hung His Christmas Gift, Christ, upon the Tree. Now, when Christmas candles shine, Now, when yule-logs sing, Children, hush, and bow the head, Once— remembering.
REAL CHRISTMAS TREES By E m il y G regg
A WHOLE mile of living Christmas trees? Grandma, that just couldn’t b e!” As Fred pulled his woolly red sweater over his head with a jerk, he told himself that even though he was only nine, he knew as much about Christmas trees as his grandmother from California could possi bly know. All his life he had lived in the state of Vermont where many, many snow laden fir trees covered the hills in the win ter time, but they were not real Christmas trees—never decked with tinsel and lights unless some one cut a tree down and took it into a house. He was sure that his grand mother did not realize just how long a mile of Christmas trees would be! Grandmother was always doing and say ing such surprising things. The very first night after she arrived for her four months’ visit in their home, she had bowed her head at the table before beginning to eat; and when his mother, a little embarrassed, had tried to apologize for the overlooked bless ing by saying, ‘‘Mother, I guess we’ve for gotten about that custom at our house,” his grandmother had smiled sweetly as she said, “ But, Alice, we can’t forget Him.” Fred hadn’t understood the meaning of all they said, but he felt sure that his mother knew. Then, too, Grandmother had the strang est and most delightful way of telling sto ries on paper, illustrating every action with clever little pen-and-ink people. He had never heard Bible stories told in that way—in fact, he had never heard much
about the Bible at all until Grandmother came. Fred was still puzzling about that mile of Christmas trees as he started to rush out to get his sled and join the boys who were calling to him from the snow-covered yard. But just as he reached the door his heart jumped up inside of him as Grandmother asked, “ Fred, how would you like to spend Christmas with me in Pasadena? You may, if you wish.” Christmas in Pasadena! His grand mother’s words seemed unreal— like a far away dream. A trip across the continent, a visit to California! Wouldn’t the fellows at school envy him? But Grandmother was saying something else, speaking in a very serious tone. “ Tell me,” she said, “ would you believe that there could be a whole mile of Christmas trees if you saw them with your own eyes ?” “Well, I suppose I would,” he replied slowly, “ but I don’t see how there could be.” When Fred reached California, he was still thinking about those Christmas trees. And on Christmas Eve, as Grandmother’s shabby little car nosed into the long pro cession that crawled toward Altadena, and at last turned into Santa Rosa Avenue to pass between two long rows of tall, stately, brilliantly lighted trees, Fred thought that he must be dreaming. Here, on each side of the street were fifty beautiful evergreen trees called deodars, their low needled branches touching the ground, their tips towering many feet in the air.
The street was crowded with thousands of honking cars, and all the people were ex claiming over the dazzling brightness of seemingly endless rows of twinkling Christ mas trees. The branches were ablaze with many-colored bulbs which flickered and flashed from the pyramids of light which made Fred look with awe. The branches were studded with electric jewels, trans-
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