midnight
Alone , as heretofore , Elizabeth and I tied and marked the tissue packages , and in some of the books wrote rhymes , such as only Santa Claus can think of when he has finished his remote year of toil and has started out with his loaded sleigh to strew happiness around the world . I suppose there is no more delightful employment than to watch the thing that will give a splendid joy to one 's children grow and glisten under one 's hands -- to view it at different angles during the process ; to note how it begins to look `` Christmasy , '' to add a touch here , a brightness there , to see it at last radiant and complete , ready for the morning illumination . On the topmost branch each year there was always the same little hanging ornament , a swinging tinseled cherub that we had bought for the very first little tree and the very first little girl , in the days when we had been so young , so poor , and so happy . It was midnight when the last touch was given and the cherub was swinging at the top , and it was only a wink or two afterward , it seemed , that there were callings back and forth from small beds and a general demand for investigation . A hurried semi-dressing , a fire blazing up the chimney , a door thrown open upon a sparkling , spangled tree . Eager exclamations , moments of awed silence , after which the thrilling distribution of gifts . Human life holds few things better or happier than such a Christmas morning .