As the time of rejoicing drew near, his memory carried him back to his once happy home in M——­; and as it is natural for childhood to love to dwell only on life’s brightest spots, so he recalled mostly the period before his father’s death, when all had to him as yet been sunshine.  The mysterious preparation—­the Christmas-tree hung with glancing lights and fairy gifts so bewitching to children—­the trembling joy with which each packet or article was examined,—­all this, although the child of poor parents, had been his to enjoy; but on this Christmas-day he had nothing to expect.

As he was going along the street one day, when sent on an errand, he passed by a church which was being adorned with evergreens, as is the custom with many of the Episcopalians.  The work had been finished, and the sexton was sweeping the refuse branches into the street.  An idea struck him; he would have a Christmas-tree—­a very small one, indeed, but then even a green branch of spruce would make things look more Christmas-like.  He picked one up, and carrying it home, concealed it in his attic; for he feared if he showed it to Mrs. Walters, she would serve it as she had done his cat.

The twenty-fourth of December came, and our hero’s heart beat high, half with joy, half with apprehension.  He had his plan, but there was another will than his own to determine its being effected.  Jem Taylor had gone up the river a few days before, to spend the holidays with his mother, and the other journeymen had given up work early on the day already mentioned.

Jem, however, who really liked our hero, had given him a shilling as a Christmas gift; this, with some pennies from his friend the market-woman, made him feel rich, and he resolved to spend it in Christmas gifts.  Yes, Christmas gifts, dear reader; but there are different kinds of such.  He would not spend his little store in bonbons and cakes, which do no good; tea, sugar, and other like necessary articles, could be put up in horn-shaped papers, and be hung on his branch of evergreen; and then, if he only dared go out on Christmas day, how nice it would be to set it up in old Mrs. Graham’s room!

Most children, in giving Christmas presents, expect to receive in return.  Not so our little shoemaker.  But he, too, had his equivalent; yes, more—­the approbation of his own heart, which is always the reward of a disinterested action.  Mrs. Burton, too, gave him a small mince-pie, when he went in the morning for the milk; this, too, was saved for the great occasion.

The afternoon came, and with it two pairs of children’s shoes, which one of the journeymen had tarried to finish, were brought in.  William’s heart beat almost audibly; they were for his friend, Mrs. Bradley.  Should he be the errand-boy on this occasion?  A petition to be permitted to spend Christmas eve from home had been trembling on his lips all day, but each time, when about to speak, his resolution failed.  But now the words.  “Bill, run off with these shoes to Mrs. Bradley, the market-woman,” filled him with delight, and emboldened him to beg for the remainder of the evening.  Seeing there was no one left to work, Mr. Walters assented, and with great joy of heart the little shoemaker prepared to enjoy his long-anticipated festival.