Chapter 1. Our story begins with the night before Christmas. It was in the old days, before there were railways, even before there was a gas-light in Edmonton. Edmonton was just a big village; and on a fine summer's evening, when all the people were away at their houses, or walking on the broad street, they might be seen sitting in their doors, for as long as their eyes lasted, enjoying themselves by the light of the moon. This was not only delightful for them, but also good for the country, as the bright moon always brought with it a good harvest. There were two of these old moonlight people in Edmonton, and they sat with their hands round their beloved tea-kettle, and looked at each other and laughed with enjoyment. At last they heard the trampling of hoofs. The horses had arrived at the town from the station, and what do you think the children brought for dinner?--oysters! Now oysters are delicious, whether the country people eat them by themselves, or send them out of town in that way, there is no doubt about it. So the moonlight people put on their spectacles, and looked over the list of delicacies. They saw there was, besides the oysters, a lot of fowls, a leg of lamb, a partridge, and some other things that they didn't think much about. They had never, before, been in this town, and didn't know what the people did, or how they lived; but, for their part, they had lived well enough, and were quite satisfied with their position, for they had, each of them, his own piece of ground, a plough, and a cow. So they resolved, as they always had done, to give the children something to eat, and see what would happen. When the child entered their gate, and looked round at the garden and the grass, and the old house, it could not help crying; but they knew, from the way in which their own cows and calves had been treated by the town, that they were obliged to keep on, and make the best of it. The children took off their clothes and sat down in the sun. It was warm; and when the mother of the child arrived, she sat down beside her husband and daughter, and asked what ails the boy. "Oh, mother, how he cries," said the girl. "It's only his nose that ails him," replied the mother, who had been an invalid all her life, and didn't like people to cry; "and I think it's a pity you ever would cry, you and your brother, on such a fine evening as this. Don't you see how beautiful it is?" "Beautiful!" exclaimed the girl. "No, indeed, mother; it's a fine place to get all we want, that's certain. It's a fine place to get everything; but we shouldn't think so if we hadn't any town, with gas-lights, and all that sort of thing. You know, mother, it's very hard for us; and I wish you would persuade your husband to let us have a town." "Child, child," said the mother, in an impatient voice, "don't talk to me about that sort of thing; we are always poor; that is, we always have been poor, I mean; and if you won't go and see what it's like, to be happy, instead of crying all the time, we must both go and earn our living as we have always done." "Well, mother, you are the greatest coward ever lived. I don't believe there's a soul in this whole town who would do what you are afraid to do. You are afraid of everything; I've seen that from a long time. I think you'd be able to fight one of the boys who live in that horrid conventivation, but you haven't pluck enough to go and see what it's like to work at a trade; and what will you do when you've got nothing left? My father's a hard man, but he'll not starve us, as you call it; and if it pleases you to make such a fuss about going into the town, there's nothing for us to do but to go too." The girl had hardly finished when the old men arrived. They were, naturally enough, rather slow of speech, for they had very little to say, and hardly knew what they wanted to say, but they were quite ready to accept the invitation of the children. The children were glad to see them; for there were few people like them in the village. They had come from the country, where they had spent their lives without the fear of doing any good or any harm to any one. They were very merry, and they would have been very happy, but that their daughter, the young girl, was so cross; and it was all she could do to keep from going out in the garden and crying all night. The old men looked at the children, and at each other, and at the moon, and the sun, and the stars, and the flowers, and the grass, and the clouds, and the sky, and the cows, and the geese, and all the creatures, and saw that there was plenty of everything, and felt satisfied with the world, and laughed as merrily as they had been accustomed to laugh for many years. It was nearly dark when they reached the house. The old man was sent to bed with a mug of beer, and the mother was asked what she had got for dinner, as the cow was very slow in giving milk. But there were potatoes and beans, and some onions, and some herbs that they had just gathered. It was the old men's privilege, even then, to prepare their dinner. They cooked and ate it without troubling their wives, and then they settled themselves on the couch where they had been put to bed, and fell asleep. As for the young man and the girl, the mother, their own mother, had once told them, when they asked her, how to behave. "Children," she said, "don't ask your mother whether it's well or ill to do any thing; but be quiet and listen to her, and she will tell you what she thinks. If she tells you to cry, don't cry; if she tells you to laugh, don't laugh; but do what she tells you, and you'll have no reason to complain." So the young girl sat still, and her mother sat still, and thought she was sure she had a daughter who would live. But the young girl cried as loudly as she could until morning, and then, with her father's help, she got up, and began to make the breakfast. The old men were in a very easy, easy mood, as children are in that blessed state of ignorance where there is no sense of obligation, and no feeling that anything is expected of them. They were, for the most part, contented with their lives, and were never discontented with the things they were doing, so far as they knew; and when their mistress began to wish them to do something that would add to the comforts of life, they were so happy that they knew not what to think. Thus the two old men got up and went into the garden to work. The mother looked at them and smiled, for she knew they were glad of something to do, and thought what great fools they were not to know how to be as well-pleased with their lives as that was. But her child was still displeased. She sat, with her hands clasped over her knee, looking out into the garden. She saw the cow eating and drinking, and the geese gambolling about the meadow. The sun shone on everything; and it seemed to her as if it were all as beautiful as she could wish. She sat with her eyes turned up towards it. She was thinking of the joys that seemed to shine from it and from the sky and the grass; of the flowers that flowered, and the trees that stood, and the brooks that ran, and the bees that buzzed. In her heart of hearts she felt that the flowers were not so beautiful as the grass; and the flowers that grew in the garden were too faint and pale to deserve a comparison with the flowers that grew in the fields and the hedges. But she had no means of expressing her ideas; and she only sat, and looked, and wondered. At last she began to weep. When she cried she was not satisfied with the things she saw, and she wished to wipe them away; and when she cried, it was difficult to believe that all the world was beautiful and delightful. Then she wept again; and so she went on, till she was tired of crying. When she saw that her mother was in a very bad temper, she went to the old men and told them to leave the garden. They asked her what was the matter. "Nothing," she said; "don't you see what a fine day it is? It's too beautiful to sit in the garden. Do you not see that the sun shines on everything? You know we are poor, mother; and if it was not for the town we shouldn't know what a fine thing it is to see the sun shining, and the sky so blue, and the flowers so beautiful. If it was not for that, I could be happy; but when I look at those things I don't know what to say. They are so beautiful, they make me ashamed of being poor." "Oh, daughter," replied the mother, "you speak in such a strange way. What do you mean?" "It seems to me," said the girl, "as if you said that we might not see how beautiful the sun was and the sky, and the flowers, and the grass, and the trees, and the brooks, and the trees, and the stars, if it was not for the town. Now you see what I mean. The town makes everything good, and everything beautiful. There are no clouds. There is no sun, or no sky, or no flowers, or no trees, or no brooks, or no cows, or no geese. There are no cows, because cows eat grass. There is no grass because cows eat it. And I say that, if it wasn't for the town, you wouldn't see what a fine thing it is to have cows. There are no clouds because there is no sky. There are no stars, because they cannot be seen. There is no sun, because there are no cows. There are no flowers because cows eat them. There are no brooks, because cows drink them. There are no trees, because cows eat them. There are no stars, because cows eat them. There are no flowers, because cows eat them. There are no clouds because there is no sky. There is no sun because cows eat the sun. There are no brooks because cows drink them. There are no trees because cows eat them. There are no flowers, because cows eat them. There are no stars because cows eat them. There is no sun, because there are no cows. There is no sky, because cows eat the sky. There are no clouds because there is no sky. There is no sun because there is no sky. There is no sky because there are no clouds. There are no flowers because cows eat them. There are no brooks because cows drink them. There are no trees because cows eat them. There are no cows because there are no clouds. There are no stars because there is no sky. There are no brooks because cows drink them. There are no trees because cows eat them. There are no flowers because cows eat them. There are no clouds because there is no sky. There is no sun because there are no cows. There is no sky because there are no cows. There are no flowers because cows eat them. There are no brooks because cows drink them. There are no trees because cows eat them. There are no stars because there is no sky. There is no sun because there are no cows. There is no sky because there are no clouds. There is no sun because there are no cows. There is no sky because there are no clouds. 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