Transcription:
Roland, yelling for his mother on the top of his voice. She answers from the back, and now ran to him, Roland has picked his
Christmas tree out of the rubbish limbs that they burn over there, and the mother goes to stand it in a bucket of water. And
shall not this be a holier tree than the 75 cents saplings that we have illegible heretofore. Hony soi qui mal I pense, and
if you should drop in under our Santa Claus coming, you need not bring a cherchief to wipe your tears, my wife shall dry them
with the hair of her soul. A few days ago the dear child told his mother he would be satisfied with a tree if she did not
have money enough to buy candles. Now He, and He only sends this tree. Oh, I gladly , hungrily eat of the bread of affliction
and drink of the water of adversity, for He has delivered my soul from death, and he shall save my feet from falling. As
thanks for your trouble, take this twig of our Christmastree, The good wife just took it in, asking Don't it smell good?
Love to all of you folks from illegible