Transcriber’s Note Italic text displayed as: _italic_ [Illustration: The Boy Who Brought Christmas ] [Illustration: “‘We reckoned, Grover Cleveland and me did, that this yer sprigged pattern would be becomin’ to your build’”] [Illustration: The Boy Who Brought Christmas by Alice Morgan Illustrated by John Jackson Garden City New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1911 ] ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY PERRY MASON & COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY ALICE MORGAN THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The author wishes to thank the Editors of The American Press Association for their kind permission to reprint Chapters I and II of this story; and the Editors of _The Youth’s Companion_ for their courtesy in permitting the republication of Chapters III and IV. [Illustration: The Boy Who Brought Christmas] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE ITINERANT CHRISTMAS TREE 3 II. CREEDS AND DEEDS 41 III. UNCONSCIOUS MENTALITY 72 IV. OLD-TIME RELIGION 101 [Illustration: The Boy Who Brought Christmas ILLUSTRATIONS “‘We reckoned, Grover Cleveland and me did, that this yer sprigged pattern would be becomin’ to your build’” _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE “The puzzled Dixie had his nose pressed down to an equivocal impression where the sand of the road had spread itself through the weedy border” 4 “They drew up some benches before the fire and gave themselves to rest and reminiscence” 47 “‘What be you anyway?’ he asked quaveringly, sinking to a seat upon the log” 120 ] [Illustration: The Boy Who Brought Christmas ] The Boy Who Brought Christmas I THE ITINERANT CHRISTMAS TREE Old Man Ledbetter came jolting along the stony mountain road in an ox cart, the tin-tipped ends of the shoe-string that confined his plaited beard dancing upon his breast, his hazel whipstock lying at his feet, and a hard, stumpy hand spread out upon either knee to hold himself steady. Without any gee-hawing on his part his yoked steeds turned at the ford and staggered clumsily into the Junaluska. In midstream a shallow swirl of water came circling about his feet, but, though he may have pressed his hands harder upon his knees, the only perceptible preparation he made for a possible submerging was the shifting of his tobacco into the other cheek. But from the footlog below, a call, piping but authoritative, challenged his attention. “Hi, gran’daddy! he didn’t cross the log; you reckon he waded the branch? Dixie and me’s done lost the trail!”