One of the men had whittled out no less than four fat tops, all ringed with colors and truly beautiful to see, that he said were the best he had ever beheld, despite the fact that something was in them that seemed to prevent them from spinning.

Another old fellow brought a pair of rusty skates which were large enough for a six-foot man.  He told of the wonderful feats he had once performed on the ice as he hung them on the tree for little Skeezucks.

The envy of all was awakened, however, by Field, the father of the camp, who fetched a drum that would actually make a noise.  He had built this wonder out of genuine sheep-skin, stretched over both of the ends of a bright tin can of exceptional size, from which he had eaten the contents solely with the purpose in view of procuring the metal cylinder.

There were wooden animals, cut-out guns, swords and daggers, wagons—­some of them made with spools for wheels—­a sled on which the paint was still wet, and dolls suspiciously suggestive of potato-mashers and iron spoons, notwithstanding their clothing.  There were balls of every size and color, coins of gold and silver, and books made up of pasted pictures, culled for the greater part from cans of peaches, oysters, tomatoes, lobsters, and salmon.

Nearly every man had fashioned something, and hardly anything had been left unpainted.  The clumsy old “boys” of the town had labored with untold patience to perfect their gifts.  Their earnestness over the child and the day was a beautiful thing to see.  Never were presents more impressive as to weight.  The men had made them splendidly strong.

The gifts had been ticketed variously, many being marked “For Little Skeezucks,” but by far the greatest number bore the inscription:  “For Bruvver Jim’s Baby—­Merry Christmas.”

The tree, by the time the things had been lashed upon its branches, needed propping and guying in every direction.  The placing of big, white candles upon it, however, strained the skill and self-control of the men to the last degree.  If a candle prefers one set of antics to another, that set is certainly embodied in the versatile schemes for lopping over, which the wretched thing will develop on the best-behaving tree in the world.  On a home-made tree the opportunities for a candle’s enjoyment of this, its most diverting of accomplishments, are increased remarkably.  The day was cold, but the men perspired from every pore, and even then the night came on before the work was completed.

When at length they ceased their labors for the day, there was still before them the appalling task of preparing the Christmas banquet.

In the general worry incident to all such preparations throughout the world, Parky, the gambler, fired an unexpected shot.  He announced his intention of giving the camp a grand celebration of his own.  The “Palace” saloon would be thrown wide open for the holiday, and food, drink, music, and dancing would be the order of the memorable occasion.