There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and carriages were constantly arriving and fresh guests tripping over them.  They were all children.  The Mayor was giving a Christmas Masquerade tonight to all the children in the city, the poor as well as the rich.  The preparation for this ball had been making an immense sensation for the last three months.  Placards had been up in the most conspicuous points in the city, and all the daily newspapers had at least a column devoted to it, headed with “The mayor’s Christmas masquerade,” in very large letters.

The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children whose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes were directed to be sent in to him.

Of course there was great excitement among the regular costumers of the city, and they all resolved to vie with one another in being the most popular, and the best patronized on this gala occasion.  But the placards and the notices had not been out a week before a new Costumer appeared who cast all the others into the shade directly.  He set up his shop on the corner of one of the principal streets, and hung up his beautiful costumes in the windows.  He was a little fellow, not much bigger than a boy of ten.  His cheeks were as red as roses, and he had on a long curling wig as white as snow.  He wore a suit of crimson velvet knee-breeches, and a little swallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden buttons.  Deep lace ruffles fell over his slender white hands, and he wore elegant knee buckles of glittering stones.  He sat on a high stool behind his counter and served his customers himself; he kept no clerk.

It did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things he had, and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they begun to flock to his shop immediately, from the Mayor’s daughter to the poor ragpicker’s.  The children were to select their own costumes; the Mayor had stipulated that.  It was to be a children’s ball in every sense of the word.

So they decided to be fairies and shepherdesses, and princesses according to their own fancies; and this new Costumer had charming costumes to suit them.

It was noticeable that, for the most part, the children of the rich, who had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts of goose-girls and peasants and such like; and the poor children jumped eagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hours in their miserable lives.

When Christmas Eve came and the children flocked into the Mayor’s mansion, whether it was owing to the Costumer’s art, or their own adaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful how lifelike their representations were.  Those little fairies in their short skirts of silken gauze, in which golden sparkles appeared as they moved with their little funny gossamer wings, like butterflies, looked like real fairies.  It did not seem possible, when they floated around to the music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes, half by their filmy purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying in time, that they could be anything but fairies.  It seemed absurd to imagine that they were Johnny Mullens, the washerwoman’s son, and Polly Flinders, the charwoman’s little girl, and so on.