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TITLE: A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES
AUTHOR: EUGENE FIELD
EBOOK: E00355 (O'Briens Book Cellar)

[Transcriber's notes: _ before and after a word or phrase indicate
italics, + indicate bolded text]

THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD

A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES

NEW YORK 1901

By EUGENE FIELD.

TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC, MY MOST LOYAL ADMIRER, AND MY ONLY DAUGHTER, MARY
FRENCH FIELD, THIS LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED. E.F.

INTRODUCTION

I have never read a poem by Mr. Field without feeling personally drawn to
the author. Long after I had known him as a poet, I found that he had
written in prose little scraps or long essays, which had attracted me in
just the same way, when I had met with them in the newspapers, although I
had not known who the author was.

All that he writes indeed is quite free from the conventionalisms to which
authorship as a profession is sadly liable. Because he is free from them,
you read his poems or you read his prose, and are affected as if you met
him. If you were riding in a Pullman car with him, or if you were talking
with him at breakfast over your coffee, he would say just such things in
just this way. If he had any art, it was the art of concealing art. But I
do not think that he thought much of art. I do not think that he cared
much for what people say about criticism or style. He wrote as he felt, or
as he thought, without troubling himself much about method. It is this
simplicity, or what it is the fashion of the day to call frankness, which
gives a singular charm to his writing.

EDWARD E. HALE.

The Tales in this Little Book

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT

THE COMING OF THE PRINCE

THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM

THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA

THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET

THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY

MARGARET: A PEARL

THE SPRINGTIME

RODOLPH AND HIS KING

THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS

EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST

LUDWIG AND ELOISE

FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND

THE OLD MAN

BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR

THE LITTLE YALLER BABY

THE CYCLOPEEDY

DOCK STEBBINS

THE FAIRIES OF PESTH

+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE+

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the evening
the wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and predicted strange
things. They had lived in the forest many, many years; but never had they
seen such marvellous sights as were to be seen now in the sky, and upon
the hills, and in the distant village.

"Pray tell us what you see," pleaded a little vine; "we who are not as
tall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe them to
us, that we may enjoy them with you."

"I am filled with such amazement," said one of the cedars, "that I can
hardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars appear to be
dancing among the clouds; angels walk down from heaven to the earth, and
enter the village or talk with the shepherds upon the hills."

The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before had
happened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was a
tiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a very
beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns and mosses and other humble
residents of the forest loved it dearly.

"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and how I
should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be very
beautiful."

As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watched
with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines
of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not
mistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest harmonies ever
heard upon earth.

"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it comes."

"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels could make
such sweet music."

"But the stars are singing, too," said another cedar; "yes, and the
shepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorious
song it is!"

The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its
meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had been
born; but further than this they did not understand. The strange and
glorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angels
walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and the
stars danced and carolled in high heaven. And it was nearly morning when
the cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! the angels are
coming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine and the
little tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and stronger
neighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy with
their own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble vine
and the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing the same
glorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with them,
until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song.
There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host to inspire fear;
they were clad all in white, and there were crowns upon their fair heads,
and golden harps in their hands; love, hope, charity, compassion, and joy
beamed from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill the
forest with a divine peace. The angels came through the forest to where
the little tree stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with their
hands, and kissed its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than
before. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child that had
been born. Then the stars came down from the skies and danced and hung
upon the branches of the tree, and they, too, sang that song,--the song of
the Child. And all the other trees and the vines and the ferns and the
mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they understand why all these things
were being done, and why this exceeding honor should be shown the little
tree.

When the morning came the angels left the forest,--all but one angel, who
remained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then a cedar asked:
"Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel answered: "I stay to
guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm shall come to it."

The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its
head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew, and
waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen the
like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree,
heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to the
forest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss the
little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,
no harm threatened; for the angel never slept,--through the day and
through the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it from
all evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child who
was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed the
little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them with
his tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest could
understand.

So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes the
beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tender
foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down
the straight and comely thing; sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
drought swept from the south, and sought to blight the forest and all its
verdure: the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it
grew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of
the forest.

One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto the
angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angel
strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.

"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of some one
approaching? Why do you leave me?"

"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master."

The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon its
smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange and
glorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree, and then He turned
and went away.

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