Suppose, children, you could go to old Father Time and order a merry Christmas. “Father Time,” you would say, approaching the aged gentleman with his hour-glass and scythe, “Please send me, Father Time, on December 25, a merry Christmas.”
“There are lots of different kinds of Christmases,” Father Time may answer, “and each one of them is called ‘merry’ by some people. How will you have yours? How shall I make it up?” Father Time will speak just as if you were ordering a dress or a coat.
And now, I know what some of you boys and girls would say, if you could order a merry Christmas in this manner. You would ask Father Time to throw in lots of candy and nuts and oranges, not forgetting toys and turkey and a sled and a well-filled Christmas tree, and a good many of you, too, would want lots of books.
But, after all, though Father Time might send you an ocean full of all these things, the wise old man would probably shake his head and say, “Those children are not getting the merry Christmas they want, after all.”
How might you order it to make sure of getting what you want? I will tell you.
“Father Time,” you would say, “put into my Christmas lots of kindness and love, a plenty of gratitude, merry songs, lots of kisses,—not candy, but real ones,—a plenty of unselfishness, and the spirit of sharing with those that have less than I have.”
Father Time will say, “Why, that is a pretty heavy order, boys and girls. You have ordered a finer Christmas than most people ask for, and I must turn over my stock most carefully to get what you want; but if you really want it, and will do your part toward getting it, I will do my part, and you will not be disappointed. You will be sure, children, to get the merry Christmas which you have ordered.”