*As told to me by my late grandmother, Helen Clay Sprague…

*In 1910 when I was five years old, most families didn’t have the money to buy expensive dolls for their little girls. Mothers would hand stitch the body, attach a store bought glass head to the shoulders, and sew the clothes. It would often take several weeks to complete each doll.  Finding time for such a project wasn’t easy, especially if a busy lady had more than one daughter.

A few months before the holidays, Mother began making a doll for me.  She worked on it whenever I was outside playing, or upstairs sleeping, and then hide it when I was nearby. About a month or so before Christmas, I began snooping around looking for my present…a typical kid thing to do.  I knew where Mother usually stashed things she didn’t want me to find, but those hiding places were empty. 

Then I got lucky. In the parlor, I discovered the makings of a doll’s body hidden under a cushion on the settee.  Delighted, I’d sneak in every day when Mother’s back was turned to see what kind of progress had been made in her creation.  But I must have been careless about covering my tracks, because one day I went in there and the doll was gone. 

My heart sank.

“You needn’t bother telling me why you’re upset. I already know what’s wrong” Mother quietly admonished, as I tearfully emerged from the parlor. “You found that doll’s body a few weeks ago, and you know it isn’t right to be poking around like that.”

“Yes ma’am I did find it and it isn’t there no more!” I sobbed.

“Santa Claus came and got her. You know that it’s against the rules to have you looking at your present before Christmas. But if you’re a good girl, Santa might her back” Mother said hiding a smile as she placed the plates on the sideboard for supper.

“But what if I’m a good girl, and he forgets to bring her back?” I wailed. “Santa is old!”

“Let’s hope that he remembers,” Mother replied. “Perhaps this will teach you a lesson about what can happen to nosey children.”

For the next few weeks I was on my best behavior, a difficult task because it was in my nature to seek out monkey business.  But I was desperate for my Christmas doll, so I fought hard against my customary inclination towards naughtiness.

As the big day drew near, I overheard my playmates talking about how their families brought big trees inside, and decorated them on Christmas Eve with pretty ornaments and candles.  I’d never heard of such a thing. What a lovely idea!  Of course in my five-year-old mind, I assumed whatever they got my family would have too. 

Unfortunately, I still had a lot to learn.

On Christmas Eve day, I anxiously waited for our tree to arrive. But by late afternoon when I came downstairs from a nap, my heart sank after seeing that no tree had come. And, it was getting dark.

“Where’s our Christmas tree?”  I asked Mother.

“We don’t have a Christmas tree,” she replied. 

“Well the kids said we’re supposed to have a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.” I insisted.

“People only have Christmas trees if they’re able to drive into town and buy one, or they already have one growing on their land that can be cut down and brought inside. I’m afraid we can’t do either,” Mother gently explained.

Bitterly disappointed, I broke down and wept.  First, Santa took my doll, and I was worried I’d never see her again.  And no Christmas tree either?  

The back door opened, and Grandpa Clay stomped in carrying a load of wood. 

“What’s wrong with my little girl?” he asked, alarmed by my despondent wailing.

“She’s crying because some of the children told her to expect a tree on Christmas Eve, and we don’t have one.”

“For Pete’s sake, if that’s all it takes to make my little girl happy, I’ll find a way to get her a Christmas tree” was his reply.

Bless his heart; the temperature outside was pretty close to zero.  Grandpa propped a ladder against a tall pine tree outside of our kitchen window, climbed to the top, cut off a limb, and brought it inside.

“My land Pa, you could have been killed!  It’s slippery outside.  If the ladder had slid down it might have been the end of you!” my mother protested while vigorously brushing pine needles and snow from his coat.

“If that’s all it took to give my little granddaughter a Merry Christmas, then it was worth the risk” Grandpa said. With a tender smile, he kissed the top of my braided head. I beamed at him like he hung the moon.

The limb wasn’t big, but it was full.  Once decorated, it was a lovely little tree. I was convinced that no one in the world had a prettier tree than ours.

And on Christmas morning, my beautiful red-haired doll was waiting for me!  Santa brought her back, complete with a couple of darling dresses, a nightgown, and a blue coat with a matching hat! 

I certainly was a happy little kid, even if I had nearly ruined my own Christmas.

Nowadays, I believe people are spoiled. They expect to have what they want, when they want it. And they want lots of it too. I’ve always found it harder to be excited about something that was too easy to get. Gifts like my homemade doll were greatly appreciated long ago when people had to work harder for what they had.  Presents were made by loving hands, given by loving hearts, and accepted with humble gratitude.

Then, less was truly more.  

Michelle Close Mills ©