O Little Town of Bethlehem II – Robert F. Young
This morning I take Sandy and Drew into the woods to look for a Christmas tree. The woods are full of them, but finding a good one is difficult, for most of the conifers indigenous to this part of McMullen’s Planet lack the natural symmetry of their counterparts on Earth.
Sandy is ten, Drew eight. Christmas Eve is tomorrow night and they can hardly wait for it to come, even though no Santa Claus will come down our chimney. When I reminded them of this, they assured me it made no difference. Christmas this year, they said, will be special enough in itself. In this they are quite right.
Usually when you go into the woods you see some of the Stoops. One of their villages is only a mile from our settlement and the women and children often dig up tubers out of the forest floor. But the woods are empty of them today. No doubt the number of colonists looking for Christmas trees scared them away.
I spot my neighbor, Jake Best. He has his three kids with him and he has just cut down a six-foot “spruce.”
“Merry Christmas, Glen,” he calls out to me.
“Merry Christmas, Jake,” I call back.
. . .
