This is a delightful story for children of all ages, from eight to eighty. It is a tapestry of myth and memory. The fibers of myth are every color of the rainbow, and the fibers of memory are silver, white and gold.
As the Little Baron peered out into the winter afternoon, his thoughts drifted to his parents whom he missed dearly. His father had been called out of town on business concerning the family’s woolen mill earlier in the week and his Mother decided to go along to do some shopping. Unfortunately they became snowbound because the railroad tracks were frozen in deep snowdrifts. His faithful, large, old, orange cat, Mr. Tobels, nudged up against the Little Baron in an effort to comfort him. They had been buddies ever since the boy found him near the stables one cold and wet spring morning. He was very thin, very hungry, and very friendly. They immediately became inseparable friends. When the Little Baron asked his name, the old cat replied with a loud purr, which sounded like "tobel", therefore, he was called "Mr. Tobels".
Grandfather Baron came into the library, gently placed his arm around his grandson’s shoulder and invited him to join the others in the drawing room for the crowning event of the festive decoration, that of placing the Christmas Angel on top of the tree. As they entered the room they could hear familiar carols coming from the regal music box in the far corner. But its joyous sounds did not seem to cheer the Little Baron, for he could not imagine the holiday without his parents.
Nevertheless, everyone tried to cheer him as they unwrapped the many beautiful hand-blown glass ornaments. These had been handed down by Grandfather Baron’s family from generation to generation. He proudly brought them along when they came to live in America. Refreshments of cookies, nuts and dried fruit were brought in as the tree was trimmed with the greatest of care. Finally, Grandfather Baron very carefully unwrapped many layers of old faded crepe paper from the last ornament. When he had finished, he held in his hands a craftsman’s masterpiece of art. The exceedingly time glass angel being well over one hundred years old was hand painted in silver, white and gold. The folds in its robe seemed as if they surely were made of satin. Its golden hair was made of thinly spun glass fibers, which flowed freely in the air. The eyes were as blue as the sky and it’s face shone with joy. The arms were outstretched as if to embrace with love, and one could actually see the hundreds of tiny feathers in its graceful wings. The entire figure radiated peace.
The "ohs" and “ahs” from the household staff turned Christmas decorators could not be compared with the astonishment of the Little Baron, for he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. His grandfather carefully placed the angel in the boy’s hands. He cradled it caressingly, protectively. Then Grandfather led him up the steps to the balcony above, picked up his grandson, securely held him above the railing, thus allowing the boy to crown the tree by placing the Christmas Angel upon its’ point.