From the distant station came the groaning ox-cart, laden with boxes from the far-off city, boxes full of mysterious wares, the black driver seeking to look as if curiosity did not rend his soul while he stolidly drove with his precious goods to the store-room. Here they were unloaded with mirthful haste, jokes passing among the laughing workers as to what "massa" or "mistis" was going to give them out of those heavy crates. The opening of these boxes added fuel to the growing excitement, as the well-wrapped-up parcels were taken out, in some cases openly, in others with a mysterious secrecy that doubled the curiosity and added to the season's charm. There was another feature of the work of preparation in which all were glad to take part, the gathering of the evergreens--red-berried holly, mistletoe with its glistening pearls, ground-pine, moss, and other wood treasures--for the decoration of parlor, hall, and dining-room, and, above all, of the old village church, a gleeful labor in which the whole neighborhood took part, and helpers came from miles away. Young men and blooming maidens alike joined in, some as artists in decoration, others as busy workers, and all as merry aids. Days rolled on while all this was being done,--the wood chopped and heaped away in the wood-sheds and under the back portico; the church and house made as green as spring-tide with their abundant decorations, tastefully arranged in wreaths and folds and circles, with the great green "Merrie Christmas" welcoming all comers from over the high parlor mantel. All was finished in ample time before the day of Christmas Eve arrived, though there were dozens of final touches still to be made, last happy thoughts that had to be worked out in green, red, or white. On that same day came the finish which all had wished but scarcely dared hoped for, a fleecy fall of snow that drifted in feathery particles down through the still atmosphere, and covered the ground with an inch-deep carpet of white. I well remember old Delmar, with his wrinkled, kindly face and abundant white hair, and his "By Jove, isn't that just the thing!" as he stood on the porch and looked with boyish glee at the fast-falling flakes. And I remember as well his sweet-faced wife, small, delicate, yet still pretty in her old age, and placidly sharing his enjoyment of the spectacle, rare enough in that climate, in spite of the tradition that a freeze and a snow-fall always came with the Christmas season.