LOUISA MAY ALCOTT<br />&nbsp;SELECTED STORIES<br />A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True<br />&nbsp;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />Table of contents<br />A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True<br />A Modern Cinderella<br />An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving<br />Aunt Kipp<br />Cousin Tribulation&#39;s Story<br />How They Ran Away<br />My Red Cap<br />Rosy&#39;s Journey<br />&nbsp;The Brothers<br />The Candy Country<br />A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;I&#39;m so tired of Christmas I wish there never would be another one!&quot; exclaimed a discontented-looking little girl, as she sat idly watching her mother arrange a pile of gifts two days before they were to be given.<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;Why, Effie, what a dreadful thing to say! You are as bad as old Scrooge; and I&#39;m afraid something will happen to you, as it did to him, if you don&#39;t care for dear Christmas,&quot; answered mamma, almost dropping the silver horn she was filling with delicious candies.<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;Who was Scrooge? What happened to him?&quot; asked Effie, with a glimmer of interest in her listless face, as she picked out the sourest lemon-drop she could find; for nothing sweet suited her just then.<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;He was one of Dickens&#39;s best people, and you can read the charming story some day. He hated Christmas until a strange dream showed him how dear and beautiful it was, and made a better man of him.&quot;<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;I shall read it; for I like dreams, and have a great many curious ones myself. But they don&#39;t keep me from being tired of Christmas,&quot; said Effie, poking discontentedly among the sweeties for something worth eating.<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;Why are you tired of what should be the happiest time of all the year?&quot; asked mamma, anxiously.<br />&nbsp;<br />&quot;Perhaps I shouldn&#39;t be if I had something new. But it is always the same, and there isn&#39;t any more surprise about it. I always find heaps of goodies in my stocking. Don&#39;t like some of them, and soon get tired of those I do like. We always have a great dinner, and I eat too much, and feel ill next day. Then there is a Christmas tree somewhere, with a doll on top, or a stupid old Santa Claus, and children dancing and screaming over bonbons and toys that break, and shiny things that are of no use. Really, mamma, I&#39;ve had so many Christmases all alike that I don&#39;t think I can bear another one.&quot; And Effie laid herself flat on the sofa, as if the mere idea was too much for her.