I musta been 'bout twelve years old when Paw shook m' shoulder early in the mornin' o' the day before Christmas an' said to wake up, he had somethin' to tell me. I got m' eyes open all right, but m' mind was all a-fog. By the time I got dressed; with Maw's help, an' was settin' down to a dish o' hot soup, m' sleepiness begun t' wear off. Then Paw said, "Now listen, Peter. Go git an empty sack, 'cause yer a-gonna fetch somethin' home. An' take m' stick, on accounta the snow's purty deep, an' y' better take a lantern, too, 'cause the path's in purty bad shape an' the bridges is all ice. An' then yer a-goin down t' Langenwang. Ol' Man Spreitzegger—y' know 'im, he buys an' sells lumber—he still owes me two thirty-six fer some larch wood I sold 'im. I'm gonna let y' ask 'im fer the cash, an' be sure y' knock real polite-like an' take off yer hat when y' go in. When y' git the cash, go over t' Doppelreiter's store an' buy ten pounds o' flour an' two pounds of shortenin' an' ten cents' worth o'salt an' then fetch it all home."

By this time Maw was dressed, too, while the six younger kids was still a-sleepin' in their beds all round the room. An' Maw she says, "I can't make no Christmas dinner with jest flour an' shortenin' an' salt. Y' better git a nickel's worth o' yeast, a nickel's worth o' raisins, fifty cents' worth o' sugar, ten cents' worth o' saffron, an' ten cents' worth o' nutmeg. An' I'll need some rolls, too."

Paw looked at her sorta funny, 'cause we hardly ever bought nothin'—mostly growed our own. "All right, buy it," he says quiet-like. "An' if there ain't enough money, ask Mr. Doppelreiter t' let y' have the things on credit, an' I'll make it all right with 'im at Easter when I git paid fer m' charcoal. Y' kin eat one o' the rolls on the way, 'cause y' won't git home till near supper time. Now git goin'. It's 'most five o'clock, an' y' gotta be in Langenwang in time fer eight o'clock Mass."

That was all right with me. Paw tied the sack round m' waist, I took the stick in m' right hand an' the lantern in m' left, an' started out, jest like I often done in winter in them days. I ain't gone but three hundred yards or so when I slipped an' fell an' my lantern went out. I reckoned I could fall just as good without a lantern, so I stuck it under a bush an' went on.

When I come to a footbridge over a frozen brook, the stars were movin' across the ice like they was on skates. An' down in the valley I could see the mist a-lyin' like a white sea. When I got t' Langenwang after a long, hard walk, the fog was so thick the houses looked like big dark splotches. All the people was on their way t' church.

I felt purty good after Mass when I come out into the foggy street, all bustlin' with folks gettin' ready fer the holiday. I found Spreitzegger's house all right. I was jest gonna go in the front door, an' Ol' Man Spreitzegger, as I found out later, was plannin' t' sneak out the back, only I had a hunch all of a sudden. "Peter," I says to m'self, "yer no big shot t' go walkin' in the front door. Go t' the back door like a farmer's kid oughta." An' right at the back door we met.

"Hello, Sonny. Guess y'd like t' git warm," he says jest as smooth as oil, an' pointed t' the house. "Go right on in an' warm yerself. Purty cold t'day!" An' he started t' leave.

"I ain't cold," I says. "But Paw sends his respects an' he'd like t' have his money."

"His money? What money?" he ast. "Oh yes, you're the little boy from Wood Farm. Y' musta got up early this mornin', if y've come sich a long way. Y'd better rest. Give yer Paw m' best wishes fer a Merry Christmas. I was goin' up there anyway one o' these days. We kin settle things then."

When he says that, it near bowled me over, 'cause if I didn't git no money we wouldn't git no Christmas dinner.

"Aw gee, please, mister, please, can't I have the money now? I gotta buy flour an' shortenin' an' salt, an' I dassn't go home with an empty sack."

He stared at me. "Y' know how t' work it, don't y'," he grumbled. Slow-like he pulled out his big red wallet, an' fished round among the papers till he found a dollar, an' 'en he says, "Take this fer now. Yer Paw will git the rest in two weeks. Only t'day I ain't got no more."

He shoved the money into m' hand an' walked away, leavin' me standin' there.

I didn't stand there long, but went over to Doppelreiter's store. Calm an' easy-like, jest like there was nothin' wrong, I ordered all the fixin's fer Christmas dinner. Mr. Doppelreiter hisself waited on me. He put ev'rythin' in papers an' bags fer me real nice, an' tied it all up with string. Then he fixed the flour sack so's I could carry it on m' shoulder, with part hangin' down in front an' part hangin' down behind.

When it was all ready, I ast jest as calm as before, how much it'd be all t'gether.

"That makes three dollars an' fifteen cents," he says, addin' it up with a piece o' chalk.

"Yeah, that's right," I says."There's a dollar fer now, an' my Paw, from Wood Farm in Alpel, will pay y' the rest at Easter."

The good ol' man looked at me suspicious-like an' ast, "At Easter? In what year?"

"Why, next Easter, when he gits paid for his charcoal."

Jest then Mrs. Doppelreiter, who'd been waitin' on some other customers, come over an' says, "Let 'im have it. The folks from Wood Farm often buy things on credit, an' they always makes good on it later. Let 'im have it."

"I a'ready let 'im have it. I ain't gonna take it back agin," Doppelreiter comes back at 'er. He sure was a nice man to do business with! Jest then I remembered the rolls Maw wanted.

"Kin I have half a dozen rolls, too?" I ast.

Y' git rolls at the baker's," says the storekeeper.

I knowed that, o' course, only I ain't never heard o' no one gittin' a few rolls on credit. So I told the storekeeper's wife, who 'peared to be on my side, jest what m' money sichiation was. She give me two nickels fer the rolls, an' when she seen me lookin’ hungry-like at some dried prunes she'd put in an ol' woman's basket, she give me a han'ful o' them, too. "T' nibble on the way," she says.

Purty soon I was hikin' along, loaded down with all m' good things. In ev'ry house people was butcherin', bakin', an' fryin'. I didn't envy nobody, though. I pitied 'em instead 'cause they wasn't me, climbin' up t' Alpel with sich great blessin's. What a Christmas dinner we'd have next day! Cause Maw knowed how t' do it if she had the fixin's. A pig had a'ready been killed, an' that meant we'd have soup, bacon, sausage, roast pork with horse-radish, an' 'en doughnuts, sugar noodles, an' shortcake with raisins an' saffron! The rich folks in Langenwang might have that sort o' stuff ev'ry day—that was nothin'; but we had it once a year, an' come to it with a real hankerin'—that was somethin'!

An' then, as I went m' happy way, I begun t' think less about eatin' an more about Jesus an' what Christmas was for. In the evenin', when I got home, I aimed to' read about it in the Bible an' have Maw and Myrtle sing Christmas songs. Then 'bout ten o'clock we'd set out fer Saint Catherine's an' 'tend Midnight Mass in the church, with bells, music, an' lots o' lights. An' at a side altar there'd be the crib set up, with oxen an' asses an' the manger, an' the town o' Bethlehem up on the hill, an' over it all the angels singin', "Glory be t' God in the highest!"

'Fore I knowed it, it was time fer lunch. I was so hungry fer the one roll that belonged t' me I felt like gobblin' it down all t' once. But I knowed from the 'sperience o' others that quick gobblin' ain't healthy, an' from m' own 'sperience that slow eatin' makes the fun last longer. So I nibbled the roll kinda slow an' thoughtful-like, munchin' dried prunes in between bites.

It was a mighty tasty meal. Now'days it takes plenty o' trouble an' money t' git something good. The more y' git, the less y' have. I was rich when I was pore!

After lunch I picked up m' bundle an' went on m' way. I was gittin' purty tired o'climbin' when I got a good strong whiff o' tobacco smoke. Jest in back o' me was Green Kilian, lopin' along easy. A long time back Kilian was 'sistant forester in the public forest, but he wasn't no more. He was livin' with his family in a little hut over near Fish Brook, an' nobody knowed jes' what he was doin' fer a livin'. Now he was on his way home. On his back he had a basket, which didn't look hard t' carry. He still wore his forester's clothes, an' a big, black beard hid most o' his ugly face. When I seen him, he took his pipe out of his mouth an' laughed an' says. "Where y' goin', bud?"

"Home," I says.

"Whatcha got there?"

"Fixin's for Christmas dinner."

"Good fixin's? Y' don't say! Where d'y' live?"

"At Wood Farm."

"That's some climb up t' Wood Farm. Better git a move on!"

"That's what I'm a-doin'," I says, an' I got a move on.

"After a climb like that, y'oughter sleep good t'night," Kilian goes on, a-keepin' step with me.

"Ain't gonna sleep t'night. It's Christmas Eve."

"Whatcha gonna do, if y' ain't gonna sleep?"

"Goin' t' Mass at Saint Catherine's."

"Saint Catherine's?" he ast. "All that way?"

"We'll leave home at ten t'night, an' by three in the mornin' we'll be 't home agin."

Kilian bit his pipe stem an' says, "Well, say, y' must be some Christian! Goin' way down t' the valley by day, an' t' Saint Catherine's fer Mass at night. I ain't that good a Christian, but if y' wanna stick yer bundle in m' basket, so's I kin carry it an' rest y' a spell, it's okay with me. Why shouldn't the ol’ donkey carry the load fer a ways?"

That suited me to a T, an' as m' bundle went into Kilian's basket I says to m'self, "Looks like Green Kilian ain't sich a bad guy as folks say."

Then we got goin' agin, with me dancin' along free and easy beside 'im.

"Yep, that's Christmas fer y'!" Kilian says, puffin' away at his pipe. "Makes ev'rythin' all topsy turvy. People talk theirselves into a holiday spirit, an' there ain't nothin' to it. Christmas Day's just like any other day, not a smidgin diffr'nt. I tell y', rich folks has Christmas ev'ry day; us pore folks has Good Friday ev'ry day."

"Good Friday's pretty nice, too," I says.

"Sure, fastin' ain't bad if y' got plenty o' fish an' butter an' eggs an' cakes an' cookies," says Kilian, laughin'.

What he was sayin' sounded kinda heathenish t' me. But I couldn't hear what he said next 'cause he started walkin' fast an' I couldn't keep up with 'im. With ev'ry step I kep' a-slippin' on the icy path, while Kilian, who was wearin' spikes on his shoes an' had long legs an' wasn't so tired as me, went along easy.

"Mr. Kilian!" I called.

He didn't hear. The distance between us got bigger an' bigger; lots o' times he disappeared round a bend, in the road, an' 'en I'd catch sight o' him agin further away, half hidden in the mist. I begun t' git anxious 'bout m' bundle. By this time we was nearin' Hell's Peak, where the road to Alpel turns off the road t' Fish Brook. I begun t' run. With danger a-facin' me, all m' tiredness was forgot an' I run like a little dog, gittin' closer an' closer. But what'd I do when I caught 'im, if he wasn't a mind t' give me back m' bundle, an' I wasn't strong enough t' take it? That'd be a fine end t' m' day's doin's! I wasn't going t' let m'self be tricked out o' them fixin's, even if I had to chase 'im all the way t' his hut in Fish Brook Forest.

As we was both a-goin' along at a purty good clip, we caught up with a sleigh movin' along the road ahead with two grey oxen an' a black charcoal dealer. It was Hansel 'o the Gully. My Green Kilian was 'most up t' the sleigh, so I yelled at the top o' m' lungs, "Hansel! Hansel! Please take m' Christmas dinner fixin's on yer sleigh! Kilian has 'em in his basket; he'll give 'em to y'!"

M' yells musta sounded real anxious, 'cause Hansel jumped right out o' his sleigh an' got set fer action. When Kilian seen I had somebody on my side, he snatched the basket off his back and chucked the bundle onto the sleigh, mumblin' somethin' 'bout "stupid bears" an' "ungrateful" as he went his way.

Hansel straightened up the bundle an' ast if it was a'right t' set on it. I told 'im he'd better not, so he didn't. We set beside each other on the sleigh, an' I held m' Christmas dinner fixin's careful on m' lap with both hands. So we finally got t' Alpel. When we come t' the first brook, Hansel says t' the oxen, "Whoa!" an' t' me, "Okay!" They knowed what he meant, an' stood still. I didn't, an' I set still. But it wasn't long before I dumb down, 'cause Hansel had t' go left, down into the gully, an' me t' the right, up the mountain.

"May God thank y', Hansel!"

"That's all right, little Peter!"

By the time I got up the steep mountain t' Paw's house with m' heavy load, it was gettin' dark an' snowin'. But at last I was home.

"Got ev'rythin'?" Maw ast, standin' near the stove.

"Ev'rythin'.''

"Good boy! An' I bet yer hungry."

I 'lowed she was right 'bout both. Maw took m' frozen shoes off m' feet right away. I knowed they had t' be greased agin before we went t' Mass that night. Then I set down in the warm room t' eat.

I don't remember what happened after that. The next thing I knowed it was mornin' an' I was lyin' cozy in m' bed, and through the little window the Christmas sun was shinin'.