The Birds' Christmas Carol

My all time favorite Christmas Story was written all the way back in 1887, by a woman named Kate Douglas Wiggin. She called her story the Birds' Christmas Carol.  Mother read us this book when we were very small, and year after year it was reread and retold in our family.  As I grew older I began telling the story to the children I babysat, and eventually to my own babies.  You can still find this book in print, if you look carefully, but I've found that the old fashioned way it is written is sometimes hard for young children to follow, so instead of copying the book, I'll just retell it in my own words.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I always have.

the Birds' Christmas Carol

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

(retold by Gale Ashcroft)

It was very early Christmas morning, and in the stillness of the dawn, with the soft snow falling on the housetops, a little child was born in the Bird household.

They had intended to name the baby Lucy, if it was a girl: but they had not expected her on Christmas morning, so everyone agreed she ought to have a special name.  Donald wanted his sister called "Dorothy," Paul chose "Luella.  Hugh, who had been the baby until now, sat in the corner and said nothing.  There was a newer baby now, and the "first girl," too, and it made him actually green with jealousy.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bird lay in her room, sleepy and happy with her sweet baby girl by her side.  The room was dim and quiet.  There was a cheerful open fire in the grate, but though the shutters were closed, the side windows that looked out on the church next door were a little open.

Suddenly a sound of music poured out into the bright air and drifted into the room.  It was the boy-choir singing Christmas songs. 

"Carol, brothers, carol,

Carol joyfully,

Carol the good tidings,

Carol merrily!"

Mrs. Bird thought, as the music floated in upon her gentle sleep, that she had slipped into heaven with her new baby, and that the angels were bidding them welcome.  But the tiny bundle by her side stirred a little, and she awoke.

She opened her eyes and drew the baby closer.  She looked like a rose dipped in milk, Mrs. Bird thought, like a pink cherub, with its halo of pale yellow hair, finer than floss silk.

The voices of the choir rang merrily through the room, and Mrs. Bird whispered in soft surprise, "Why, my baby, I had forgotten what day it was.  You are a little Christmas child, and we will name you Carol.  Mother's little Christmas Carol!"

And so Carol came by her name.  Uncle Jack laughingly declared that it would be very strange if a whole family of Birds could not have at least one Carol, and everyone else thought the name delightful.

Perhaps because she was born in holiday time, Carol was a very happy baby.  Maybe it was because she breathed in unconsciously the fragrance of evergreens and holiday dinners, while the peals of sleigh bells and the laughter of happy children fell upon her baby ears and wakened in them a glad surprise at the merry world she had come to live in.

Her cheeks and lips were as red as holly berries; her hair was the color of a Christmas candle flame; her eyes were bright as stars; her laugh like a chime of Christmas bells; and her tiny hands forever outstretched in giving.

Mamma and Nurse had to always take a spoonful of bread and milk before Carol could enjoy her supper.  Whatever bit of cake or candy found its way into her pretty fingers must first be broken in half so she could share with Donald, Paul, or High, and when they pretended to nibble she would clap her hands and crow with delight.

"Why does she do it?" Donald asked thoughtfully.  "None of us boys ever did."

"I hardly know," said Mamma, hugging Carol to her heart.  "Perhaps because she is a little Christmas child."

But Carol didn't grow up strong and healthy, like the other children. Soon after she turned five she began to limp slightly.  She often was tired, and would nestle close to her mother saying she "would rather not go out to play, please."

The illness was slight at first, and hope was always stirring in Mrs. Bird's heart.  "Carol will feel stronger in the summertime," she would say.  Or, "Carol will be better when she has spent a year in the country"; or "She will outgrow it".

But slowly it became plain even to Mrs. Bird that no "summertime" nor "country air" could bring her little girl back to health.

The cheeks and lips that were once as red as holly berries faded to faint pink; the star like eyes grew softer, for they often gleamed through tears; and the gay child laugh, that had been like a chime of Christmas bells, gave place to a smile so lovely, so touching, so tender and patient, that it filled the house with a gentle radiance.

Carol was nearly ten years old when Mr. and Mrs. Bird talked it over one evening after all the children were asleep.  A famous doctor had visited them that day, and told them that some time, it might be in one year, it might be in more, Carol would slip quietly off forever.

"It is no use for us to shut our eyes to it any longer," said Mr. Bird, as he paced up and down the library floor.  "Carol will never be well again.  Merry Christmas, indeed!  It gets to be the saddest day in the year to me!"

"But dear," said Mrs. Bird, in a trembling voice, "Christmas Day may not be so merry with us as it used to be, but it is a happy and blessed day even so, and that is almost better.  I suffer for Carol's sake, but I have almost given up being sorry for my own.  I am too happy in the child, and I see so clearly what she has done for the rest of us.  Donald and Paul and Hugh were three strong, willful, boisterous boys.  But now you seldom see such tenderness and devotion in boys of their years.  A quarrel or a hot word is almost unknown in the house.  Why?  Because Carol would hear it and it would distress her.  Everyone loves to be in Carol's room, because there they can forget their own troubles.  And as for me, I am a better woman every day for Carol's sake."

"You are right, dear heart," said Mr. Bird more cheerfully.  "I will try not to be sorry, but to rejoice instead that we have an angel of the house like Carol."

"And as for the future," Mrs. Bird went on.  "I think we need not be over anxious.  I feel as if she did not belong altogether to us, but that when she has done what God sent her for, He will take her back to Himself.  And it may not be very long!"  Here it was poor Mrs. Bird's turn to break down, and Mr. Bird's turn to comfort her.

continued tomorrow