Mr. Kris Kringle

It was Christmas Eve. The snow had clad the rolling hills in white, as
if in preparation for the sacred morrow. The winds, boisterous all day
long, at fall of night ceased to roar amidst the naked forest, and
now, the silent industry of the falling flakes made of pine and spruce
tall white tents. At last, as the darkness grew, a deepening stillness
came on hill and valley, and all nature seemed to wait expectant of
the coming of the Christmas time.