{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11014/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11014","id":"gutenberg_11014","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11014","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's stories","Christmas","Christmas -- Poetry","Christmas stories"],"text":"CHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY\n\n\n\nSome say that ever 'gainst that season comes\nWherein our Saviour's birth, is celebrated,\nThe bird of dawning singeth all night long:\nAnd then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;\nThe nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,\nNo fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,\nSo hallow'd and so gracious is the time.\n\nSHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS\nIN\nLEGEND AND STORY\n\nA BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS\n\n\nCOMPILED BY\n\nELVA S. SMITH\n\nCARNEGIE LIBRARY\nPITTSBURGH\n\nAND\n\nALICE I. HAZELTINE\n\nPUBLIC LIBRARY\nST. LOUIS\n\n\nILLUSTRATED\nFROM\nFAMOUS PAINTINGS\n\n\n1915\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nIn our experience in library work with children we have learned that it is\nvery difficult to find Christmas stories and legends which have literary\nmerit, are reverent in spirit, and are also suitable for children. This\ncollection has been made in an endeavor to meet this need, and thus to be\nof service to parents, teachers, and librarians.\n\nMost of the stories and poems in this book are of the legendary type. They\nhave been chosen from a wide variety of sources and represent the work of\nmany writers. There are other stories also, which, although not strictly\ntraditional, have the same reverent spirit and illustrate traditional\nbeliefs and customs. These have been included for their literary value and\ntheir interest for young people.\n\nIn the arrangement of the selections we have followed the natural order of\nthe events in preference to grouping the stories for boys and girls of\ndifferent ages.\n\nAlthough no attempt has been made to adapt the legends for story-telling,\nmost of them may be used for that purpose. Many of the selections are also\nwell suited for reading aloud.\n\nAbove all it is hoped that this book may bring real joy to the boys and\ngirls for whom it has been compiled.\n\nELVA S. SMITH,\n\nCATALOGUER OF CHILDREN'S BOOKS,\n\nCARNEGIE LIBRARY OF PITTSBURGH.\n\n\nALICE I. HAZELTINE,\n\nSUPERVISOR OF CHILDREN'S WORK,\n\nST. LOUIS PUBLIC LIBRARY.\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nThe compilers wish to thank Mrs. Margaret Deland for permission to use\n\"The Christmas Silence;\" Mrs. Etta Austin McDonald for her adaptation of\nCopp\u00e9e's \"Sabot of Little Wolff\" from \"The Child Life Fifth Reader;\"\nJosephine Preston Peabody for \"The Song of a Shepherd-Boy at Bethlehem;\"\nMrs. William Sharp for \"The Children of Wind and the Clan of Peace,\" by\nFiona Macleod; Nora Archibald Smith and the editors of the _Outlook_ for\n\"The Haughty Aspen;\" and the editors of _Good Housekeeping Magazine,_\nLittle, Brown & Company and Mrs. Velma Swanston Howard for her translation\nof \"The Legend of the Christmas Rose,\" by Selma Lagerl\u00f6f, taken from _Good\nHousekeeping Magazine_, copyright, 1907. Copyright, 1910, by Little, Brown\n& Company.\n\nThanks are also due to the following publishers for permission to reprint\npoems and stories on which they hold copyright: The Century Company for\nfour selections from _St. Nicholas_, \"The Little Gray Lamb\" by A.B.\nSullivan, \"A Christmas Legend\" by Florence Scannell, \"F\u00e9lix\" by Evaleen\nStein, \"The Child Jesus in the Garden;\" The Churchman Company for \"The\nBlooming of the White Thorn\" by Edith M. Thomas; Doubleday, Page & Company\nfor \"Neighbors of the Christ Night\" by Nora Archibald Smith; E.P. Dutton &\nCompany for \"The Sin of the Prince Bishop\" by William Canton; Ginn &\nCompany for \"Christmas Carol\" from \"Open Sesame;\" Mr. William Heinemann\nfor \"The Flight into Egypt\" by Selma Lagerl\u00f6f; Houghton Mifflin Company\nfor \"The Child Born at Bethlehem\" by H.E. Scudder, \"The Christmas Song of\nCaedmon\" by H.E.G. Pardee, \"The Little Mud-Sparrows\" by Elizabeth Stuart\nPhelps.\n\n\"St. Christopher of the Gael\" and \"The Cross of the Dumb\" are included\nthrough the courtesy of Messrs. Duffield & Company. From \"Poems and\nDramas\" by Fiona Macleod, copyright, 1901, 1903, 1907, by Thomas B.\nMosher; 1910 by Duffield & Company.\n\nThe selection \"Christmas at Greccio\" from \"God's Troubadour\" by Sophie\nJewett is included by special arrangement with T.Y. Crowell Company. \"The\nLittle Friend\" by Abbie Farwell Brown, \"Christmas Hymn\" by R.W. Gilder,\n\"The Three Kings\" by H.W. Longfellow, and \"The Star Bearer\" by E.C.\nStedman are included by special arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Company;\nand \"The Three Kings of Cologne\" by Eugene Field, and \"Earl Sigurd's\nChristmas Eve\" by H.H. Boyesen, by special arrangement with Charles\nScribner's Sons.\n\nThe story of St. Christopher is taken chiefly from the \"Golden Legend,\"\nbut a few suggestions for its adaptation were obtained from a version by\nOlive Logan.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\"THE GRACIOUS TIME\"\n\nTHE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS\n  ST. LUKE, II, 1-16\n\nTHE CHILD BORN AT BETHLEHEM\n  HORACE ELISHA SCUDDER\n\nAS JOSEPH WAS A-WALKING\n  OLD ENGLISH CAROL\n\nTHE PEACEFUL NIGHT\n  JOHN MILTON\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SILENCE\n  MARGARET DELAND\n\nNEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT\n  NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH\n\nCHRISTMAS CAROL\n  FROM THE NEAPOLITAN\n\nA CHRISTMAS HYMN\n  RICHARD WATSON GILDER\n\nTHE SONG OF A SHEPHERD--BOY AT BETHLEHEM\n  JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY\n\nTHE FIRST CHRISTMAS ROSES\n  ADAPTED FROM AN OLD LEGEND\n\nTHE LITTLE GRAY LAMB\n  ARCHIBALD BERESFORD SULLIVAN\n\nTHE HOLY NIGHT\n  ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING\n\nTHE STAR BEARER\n  EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\n\nTHE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN\n  ST. MATTHEW, II, 1-12\n\nTHE THREE KINGS\n  HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\n\nTHE THREE HOLY KINGS\n  ADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND, AND OTHER SOURCES\n\nTHE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE\n  EUGENE FIELD\n\nBABOUSCKA\n  ADELAIDE SKEEL\n\nTHE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT\n  SELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\nTHE HAUGHTY ASPEN\n  NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH\n\nTHE LITTLE MUD-SPARROWS\n  ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS\n\nTHE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE\n  FIONA MACLEOD\n\nTHE CHILD JESUS IN THE GARDEN\n  AUTHOR UNKNOWN\n\nTHE MYSTIC THORN\n  ADAPTED FROM TRADITIONAL SOURCES\n\nTHE BLOOMING OF THE WHITE THORN\n  EDITH MATILDA THOMAS\n\nLEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER\n  ADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND\n\nST. CHRISTOPHER OF THE GAEL\n  FIONA MACLEOD\n\nTHE CROSS OF THE DUMB\n  FIONA MACLEOD\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SONG OF CAEDMON\n  H.E.G. PARDEE\n\nGOOD KING WENCESLAS\n  JOHN MASON NEALE\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS AT GRECCIO: A STORY OF ST. FRANCIS\n  SOPHIE JEWETT\n\nTHE SIN OF THE PRINCE BISHOP\n  WILLIAM CANTON\n\nEARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE\n  HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN\n\nA CHRISTMAS LEGEND\n  FLORENCE SCANNELL\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS ROSE\n  SELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\nF\u00c9LIX\n  EVALEEN STEIN\n\nTHE SABOT OF LITTLE WOLFF\n  FRAN\u00c7OIS COPP\u00c9E\n\nTHE LITTLE FRIEND\n  ABBIE FARWELL BROWN\n\nWHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO\n  COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTO\u00cf\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS IN\nLEGEND AND STORY\n\n\n\n\"THE GRACIOUS TIME\"\n\n\nAccording to tradition, on the Holy Night there fell upon Bethlehem of\nJudea a strange and unnatural calm; the voices of the birds were hushed,\nwater ceased to flow and the wind was stilled. But when the child Jesus\nwas born all nature burst into new life; trees put forth green leaves,\ngrass sprang up and bright flowers bloomed. To animals was granted the\npower of human speech and the ox and the ass knelt in their stalls in\nadoration of the infant Saviour. Then it was that the shepherds abiding in\nthe field with their flocks heard the angels praising God, and kings of\nthe Orient watching in their \"far country\" saw ablaze in the heavens the\nlong-expected sign. Even in distant Rome there sprang up a well or\nfountain which \"ran largely\" and the ancient prophetess, Sibyl, looking\neastward from the Capitoline hill heard the angel song and saw in vision\nall the wonders of that night.\n\nThere are many such traditional tales of the nativity, of the \"star-led\nwizards\" and of the marvels wrought by the boy Christ. They tell of the\nbees singing their sweet hymn of praise to the Lord, of the palm-tree\nbending down its branches that the weary travellers fleeing from the wrath\nof Herod might be refreshed by its fruit, of the juniper which opened to\nconceal them and of the sweet-smelling balsam which grew wherever the\ndrops of moisture fell from the brow of the Boy \"as He ran about or toiled\nin His loving service for His Mother.\" Quaint fancies some of these,\nperhaps, and not all of them worth preserving; but oftentimes beautiful,\nand with a germ of truth.\n\nFrom the centuries between then and now, come stories of holy men, of\nbishops and peasant-saints, and of brave men who preached the White Christ\nto the vikings of the north or on Iona's isle. As in popular belief, with\neach returning eve of the nativity the miracles of the first Christmas\nhappen again, so in these tales the thorn-tree blossoms anew and wonderful\nroses bloom in the bleak forest.\n\nOther stories tell how on each Christmas eve the little Christ-child comes\nagain to earth and wanders through village or town, while lighted candles\nare placed in the windows to guide Him on His way.\n\nThese various legends and traditional tales, which sprang up among the\npeople like flowers by the wayside and became a part of the life of the\nMiddle Ages, are still of interest to us of to-day and have a distinct\ncharm of their own. And when the childlike faith and beauty of thought of\nthe finest of these have found expression in literary form they seem\nparticularly suited for our reading at \"the gracious time.\"\n\n\n\nTHE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS\n\nST. LUKE, II, 1-16\n\n\nAnd it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from\nCaesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.\n\nAnd this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.\n\nAnd all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.\n\nAnd Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into\nJudaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was\nof the house and lineage of David:\n\nTo be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.\n\nAnd so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished\nthat she should be delivered.\n\nAnd she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling\nclothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in\nthe inn.\n\nAnd there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping\nwatch over their flock by night.\n\nAnd, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord\nshone round about them: and they were sore afraid.\n\nAnd the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good\ntidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.\n\nFor unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is\nChrist the Lord.\n\nAnd this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in\nswaddling clothes, lying in a manger.\n\nAnd suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host\npraising God, and saying,\n\nGlory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.\n\nAnd it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven,\nthe shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and\nsee this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto\nus.\n\nAnd they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying\nin a manger.\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD BORN AT BETHLEHEM\n\nHORACE ELISHA SCUDDER\n\n\nAbout six miles to the south of Jerusalem is the village of Bethlehem,\nlying along the slope and on the top of a gray hill, from the steep\neastern end of which one looks over a broad plain, toward a range of high\nhills beyond. At any time, as one drew near the place, coming from\nJerusalem, he would pass by rounded hills, and now and then cross little\nravines with brooks, sometimes full of water, sometimes only beds of\nstone; and, if it were spring-time, he would see the hills and valleys\ncovered with their grass, and sprinkled abundantly with a great variety of\nwild flowers, daisies, poppies, the Star of Bethlehem, tulips and\nanemones--a broad sheet of color, of scarlet, white and green. Perhaps,\nvery long ago, there were trees also where now there are none; and on\nthose hills, gray with the stone that peeped out through the grass, stood\nthe mighty cedars of Lebanon, stretching out their sweeping branches, and\noaks, sturdy and rich with dark foliage, green the year round. At any\nrate, then, as now, we may believe that there were vineyards upon the\nsunny slopes, and we know that the wind blew over corn-fields covering the\nplains that lay between the ranges of hills.\n\nIt is of the time long since that we are thinking, when there were no\nmassive buildings on Bethlehem hill, such as are to be seen in the town as\nit now appears. Instead, there were low houses, many of mud and sunburnt\nbrick, some so poor, doubtless, that the cattle were stalled, if not in\nthe same room with the people of the house, yet so near that they could be\nheard through the partition, stamping, and crunching their food. There was\nan inn there, also; but we must not think of it as like our modern\npublic-houses, with a landlord and servants, where one could have what he\nneeded by paying for it. Rather, it was a collection of buildings for the\nconvenience and accommodation of travelers, who brought with them whatever\nthey required of food, and the means of preparing it, finding there only\nshelter and the roughest conveniences. The larger inns of this sort were\nbuilt in the form of a great courtyard surrounded by arcades, in which\npeople stayed, and kept their goods, if they were merchants.\n\nThe inn at Bethlehem was not probably one of these great\ncaravanserais,--as they are called now in the East, because caravans stop\nat them; and it is even possible that the stables about the inn were\nsimply caves scooped out of the soft chalk rock, for the country there\nhas an abundance of these caves used for this very purpose.\n\nFrom the hill on which Bethlehem stands, one can see travelers\napproaching, and at that time, long ago, no doubt the people who lived\nthere saw companies of travelers, on foot or mounted, coming up to the\nvillage. For it was a busy time in Judea. The Emperor at Rome, the capital\nof the world, had ordered a tax to be laid upon his subjects, and first it\nhad to be known just who were liable to be taxed. Nowadays, and in our\ncountry, people have their names taken down at the door of their own\nhouses, and pay their tax in the town where they live. But then, in Judea,\nit was different. If a man had always lived in one place, and his parents\nbefore him, well and good: there his name was taken down, and there he was\ntaxed. But if he was of a family that had left another place, he went back\nto the old home, and there his name was registered. There were many, it\nmay be, who at this time were visiting Bethlehem for this purpose.\n\nAt least, we know of two amongst these travelers; devout and humble people\nthey were; Joseph, a carpenter, living in Nazareth, a village of Galilee,\nsixty miles or more to the northward, and Mary, his wife. Together they\nwere coming to Bethlehem, for while Nazareth was now their home, they were\nsprung from a family that once lived in Bethlehem, and though they were\nnow poor and lowly, that family was the royal family, and King David, the\ngreatest king that ever sat on the Jewish throne, was their ancestor.\nPerhaps, as they climbed the hill, they thought of Ruth, who had gleaned\nin the corn-fields just where they were passing, and no doubt they thought\nof Ruth's great-grandson, King David, who was born here, and here kept his\nfather's sheep,--such sheep as even now they could see on the hillsides,\nwatched by the watching shepherds.\n\nThey came, like the rest, to the caravanserai, but found it already filled\nwith travelers. They could not have room with other men and women, and yet\nthere was shelter to be had, for the place where the horses and beasts of\nburden stood was not all taken up. It may be that many of those now\noccupying the inn had come on Joseph's errand, and, not being merchants,\nhad come unattended by the beasts that bore the goods of merchants, who\nwere there occupying the inn; and what were they there for? We can only\nguess. All is forgotten of that gathering; men remember only the two\ntravelers from Nazareth who could find no room in the inn, and made their\nresting-place by a manger.\n\nFor there, away from the crowd, was born to Mary a child, whom she wrapped\nin swaddling-clothes and laid in the manger. She was away from home; she\nwas not even in a friend's house, nor yet in the inn; the Lord God had\nmade ready a crib for the babe in the feeding-place of cattle. What\ngathering of friends could there be to rejoice over a child\nborn in this solitary place?\n\nYet there were some, friends of the child and of the child's mother, who\nwelcomed its birth with great rejoicing. It may be that when Mary was\nlaying Him upon His first hard earthly resting-place, there was, not far\noff, such a sight as never before was seen on earth. On the hilly slopes\nabout Bethlehem were flocks of sheep that, day and night, cropped the\ngrass, watched by shepherds, just as, so long before, young David, in the\nsame place, had watched his father's sheep. These shepherds were devout\nmen, who sang, we may easily believe, the songs which the shepherd David\nhad taught them; and now, in the night-time, on the quiet slopes, as they\nkept guard over their flocks, out of the darkness appeared a heavenly\nvisitor: whence he came they knew not, but round about him was a\nbrightness which they knew could be no other than the brightness of His\npresence which God cast about His messengers. Great fear fell upon\nthem--for who of mortals could stand before the heavenly beings? But the\nangel, quick to see their fear, spoke in words which were the words of men\nand fell in peaceful accents:--\n\n\"Fear not!\" said he, \"for see, I bring you glad tidings of a great joy\nthat shall be to all the people. For there has been born to you, this very\nday, a Saviour, who is the Holy Lord, born in the city of David; and this\nshall be its sign to you: ye shall find a child wrapped in\nswaddling-clothes lying in a manger.\"\n\nAnd now, suddenly, before they could speak to the heavenly messenger, they\nsaw, not him alone, but the place full of the like heavenly beings. A\nmultitude was there; they came not as if from some distant place, but as\nangels that ever stood round these shepherds. The eyes of the men were\nopened, and they saw, besides the grassy slopes and feeding sheep, and\ndistant Bethlehem, and the stars above, a host of angels. Their ears were\nopened, and besides the moving sheep and rustling boughs, they heard from\nthis great army of heavenly beings a song, rising to God and falling like\na blessing upon the sleeping world:--\n\n\"Glory to God in the highest\n  And on earth peace,\n  Good will to men.\"\n\nIn the lowly manger, a little child; on the hillside pasture, a heavenly\nhost singing His praises! Then it was once more quiet, and the darkness\nwas about the shepherds. They looked at one another and said,--\"Let us go,\nindeed, to Bethlehem, to see this thing that has come to pass, which the\nLord hath made us know.\"\n\nSo, in all haste, with the sound of that hymn of glory in their ears, they\nleft the pasture and sought the town. They went to the inn, but they\nlooked not there for the child; where the mangers were, there they sought\nHim, and found Him lying, and by Him Joseph and Mary. There were others by\nthe new-born child, some who had doubtless come out from the inn at\nhearing of the birth. \"Whence are these shepherds?\" they might have said\nto themselves, \"and what has brought them to this birthplace?\"\n\nTo all by the manger, the shepherds, their minds full of the strange sight\nthey had witnessed, recount the marvel. They tell how one appeared with\nsuch brightness about him as in old times they had heard gave witness that\nthe Lord God would speak to His people; how their fear at his presence was\nquieted by his strange and joyful words; and how, when he had said, \"Ye\nshall find a child wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger,\" they\nsuddenly were aware of a host of angels round about them sounding praise,\nto which God also listened.\n\nThose to whom they told these things were amazed indeed at the\nstrangeness. What did the marvel mean, they wondered. They could\nknow no more than the shepherds had told them, and as for these men, they\nwent away to their flocks again, praising God, for now they too, had seen\nthe child, and it was all true, and with their human voice they caught up\nthe song of rejoicing which had fallen from angelic lips.\n\nThere was one who heard it all, and we may think did not say much or ask\nmuch, but laid it away in her heart. It was Mary, and she had, in the\ntreasure-house where she put away this wonder, other thoughts and\nrecollections in company with it. There, in her inmost heart, she kept the\nremembrance of a heavenly visitor who had appeared to her when she was\nalone, and had quieted her fear by words that told her of this coming\nbirth, and filled her soul with the thought that He whom she should bear\nwas to have the long-deserted throne and a kingdom without end. She\nremembered how, when she visited her cousin Elizabeth, she was greeted\nwith a psalm of rejoicing that sprang to the lips of that holy woman, and\nfrom her own heart had come a psalm of response.\n\nAnd now the child was born--born in the place of David, yet born to be\nlaid in a manger. A name had been given it by the angel, and she called\nthe child Jesus; for Jesus means Saviour, and \"He shall,\" said the angel,\n\"save His people from their sins.\"\n\n\n\nAS JOSEPH WAS A-WALKING\n\nOLD ENGLISH CAROL\n\n\nAs Joseph was a-walking\n  He heard an angel sing:--\n\"This night there shall be born\n  Our heavenly King.\n\n\"He neither shall be born\n  In housen, nor in hall,\nNor in the place of Paradise,\n  But in an ox's stall.\n\n\"He neither shall be cloth\u00e8d\n  In purple nor in pall;\nBut in the fair, white linen,\n  That usen babies all.\n\n\"He neither shall be rock\u00e8d\n  In silver nor in gold,\nBut in a wooden cradle\n  That rocks on the mould.\n\n\"He neither shall be christened\n  In white wine nor in red,\nBut with fair spring water\n  With which we were christened.\"\n\nMary took her baby,\n  She dressed Him so sweet,\nShe laid Him in a manger,\n  All there for to sleep.\n\nAs she stood over Him\n  She heard angels sing,\n\"O bless our dear Saviour,\n  Our heavenly King.\"\n\n\n\nTHE PEACEFUL NIGHT\n\nJOHN MILTON\n\n\nBut peaceful was the night\nWherein the Prince of Light\n  His reign of peace upon the earth began.\nThe winds with wonder whist,\nSmoothly the waters kist,\n  Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,--\nWho now hath quite forgot to rave,\nWhile birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.\n\nThe stars, with deep amaze,\nStand fixed in steadfast gaze,\n  Bending one way their precious influence;\nAnd will not take their flight,\nFor all the morning light,\n  Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;\nBut in their glimmering orbs did glow,\nUntil their Lord himself bespake, and bid them\n  go.\n\nAnd, though the shady gloom\nHad given day her room,\n  The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,\nAnd hid his head for shame,\nAs his inferior flame\n  The new-enlightened world no more should need:\nHe saw a greater Sun appear\nThan his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SILENCE\n\nMARGARET DELAND\n\n\nHushed are the pigeons cooing low\n  On dusty rafters of the loft;\n  And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft,\nSleep on the fragrant hay below.\n\nDim shadows in the corner hide;\n  The glimmering lantern's rays are shed\n  Where one young lamb just lifts his head,\nThen huddles 'gainst his mother's side.\n\nStrange silence tingles in the air;\n  Through the half-open door a bar\n  Of light from one low-hanging star\nTouches a baby's radiant hair.\n\nNo sound: the mother, kneeling, lays\n  Her cheek against the little face.\n  Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace!\n'Tis yet in silence that she prays!\n\nAges of silence end to-night;\n  Then to the long-expectant earth\n  Glad angels come to greet His birth\nIn burst of music, love, and light!\n\n\n\nNEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST NIGHT\n\nNORA ARCHIBALD SMITH\n\n\nDeep in the shelter of the cave,\n  The ass with drooping head\nStood weary in the shadow, where\n  His master's hand had led.\nAbout the manger oxen lay,\n  Bending a wide-eyed gaze\nUpon the little new-born Babe,\n  Half worship, half amaze.\nHigh in the roof the doves were set,\n  And cooed there, soft and mild,\nYet not so sweet as, in the hay,\n  The Mother to her Child.\nThe gentle cows breathed fragrant breath\n  To keep Babe Jesus warm,\nWhile loud and clear, o'er hill and dale,\n  The cocks crowed, \"Christ is born!\"\nOut in the fields, beneath the stars,\n  The young lambs sleeping lay,\nAnd dreamed that in the manger slept\n  Another, white as they.\n\nThese were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child;\n  To Thee their love was given,\nFor in Thy baby face there shone\n  The wonder-light of Heaven.\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS CAROL\n\nFROM THE NEAPOLITAN\n\n\nWhen Christ was born in Bethlehem,\n'T was night, but seemed the noon of day;\n  The stars, whose light\n  Was pure and bright,\nShone with unwavering ray;\nBut one, one glorious star\nGuided the Eastern Magi from afar.\n\nThen peace was spread throughout the land;\nThe lion fed beside the tender lamb;\n  And with the kid,\n  To pasture led,\n  The spotted leopard fed;\nIn peace, the calf and bear,\nThe wolf and lamb reposed together there.\n\nAs shepherds watched their flocks by night,\nAn angel, brighter than the sun's own light,\n    Appeared in air,\n    And gently said,\n    Fear not,--be not afraid,\nFor lo! beneath your eyes,\nEarth has become a smiling paradise.\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS HYMN\n\nRICHARD WATSON GILDER\n\n\nTell me what is this innumerable throng\nSinging in the heavens a loud angelic song?\nThese are they who come with swift and shining feet\nFrom round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet.\n\nOh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky,\nAs if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly?\nThe faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared\nWhen, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared.\n\nWho are these that follow across the hills of night\nA star that westward hurries along the fields of light?\n\nThree wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure bring\nTo lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ and King.\n\nWhat babe new-born is this that in a manger cries?\nNear on her lowly bed his happy mother lies.\nOh, see the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings--\nThis is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of kings.\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF A SHEPHERD--BOY AT BETHLEHEM\n\nJOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY\n\n\nSleep, Thou little Child of Mary:\n    Rest Thee now.\nThough these hands be rough from shearing\n    And the plough,\n\nYet they shall not ever fail Thee,\nWhen the waiting nations hail Thee,\nBringing palms unto their King.\n    Now--I sing.\n\nSleep, Thou little Child of Mary,\n    Hope divine.\nIf Thou wilt but smile upon me,\n    I will twine\nBlossoms for Thy garlanding.\nThou'rt so little to be King,\n    God's Desire!\n    Not a brier\nShall be left to grieve Thy brow;\n    Rest Thee now.\n\nSleep, Thou little Child of Mary.\n  Some fair day\nWilt Thou, as Thou wert a brother,\n  Come away\nOver hills and over hollow?\nAll the lambs will up and follow,\nFollow but for love of Thee.\n  Lov'st Thou me?\n\nSleep, Thou little Child of Mary;\n  Rest Thee now.\nI that watch am come from sheep-stead\n  And from plough.\nThou wilt have disdain of me\nWhen Thou'rt lifted, royally,\nVery high for all to see:\n  Smilest Thou?\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST CHRISTMAS ROSES\n\nADAPTED FROM AN OLD LEGEND\n\n\nThe sun had dropped below the western hills of Judea, and the stillness of\nnight had covered the earth. The heavens were illumined only by numberless\nstars, which shone the brighter for the darkness of the sky. No sound was\nheard but the occasional howl of a jackal or the bleat of a lamb in the\nsheepfold. Inside a tent on the hillside slept the shepherd, Berachah, and\nhis daughter, Madelon. The little girl lay restless,--sleeping, waking,\ndreaming, until at last she roused herself and looked about her.\n\n\"Father,\" she whispered, \"oh, my father, awake. I fear for the sheep.\"\n\nThe shepherd turned himself and reached for his staff. \"What nearest thou,\ndaughter! The dogs are asleep. Hast thou been burdened by an evil dream?\"\n\n\"Nay, but father,\" she answered, \"seest thou not the light? Hearest thou\nnot the voice?\"\n\nBerachah gathered his mantle about him, rose, looked over the hills toward\nBethlehem, and listened. The olive trees on yonder slope were casting\ntheir shadows in a marvellous light, unlike daybreak or sunset, or even\nthe light of the moon. By the camp-fire below on the hillside the\nshepherds on watch were rousing themselves. Berachah waited and wondered,\nwhile Madelon clung to his side. Suddenly a sound rang out in the\nstillness. Madelon pressed still closer.\n\n\"It is the voice of an angel, my daughter. What it means I know not.\nNeither understand I this light.\" Berachah fell on his knees and prayed.\n\n\"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall\nbe to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a\nSaviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye\nshall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.\"\n\nThe voice of the angel died away, and the air was filled with music.\nBerachah raised Madelon to her feet. \"Ah, daughter,\" said he, \"It is the\nwonder night so long expected. To us hath it been given to see the sign.\nIt is the Messiah who hath come, the Messiah, whose name shall be called\nWonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince\nof Peace. He it is who shall reign on the throne of David, he it is who\nshall redeem Israel.\"\n\nSlowly up the hillside toiled the shepherds to the tent of Berachah, their\nchief, who rose to greet them eagerly.\n\n\"What think you of the wonder night and of the sign?\" he queried. \"Are we\nnot above all others honored, thus to learn of the Messiah's coming!\"\n\n\"Yea, and Berachah,\" replied their spokesman, Simon, \"believest thou not\nthat we should worship the infant King! Let us now go to Bethlehem, and\nsee this thing which has come to pass.\"\n\nA murmur of protest came from the edge of the circle, and one or two\nturned impatiently away, whispering of duty toward flocks, and the folly\nof searching for a new-born baby in the city of Bethlehem. Hardheaded,\npractical men were these, whose hearts had not been touched by vision or\nby song.\n\nThe others, however, turned expectantly toward Berachah, awaiting his\ndecision. \"Truly,\" said Jude, \"the angel of the Lord hath given us the\nsign in order that we might go to worship Him. How can we then do\notherwise? We shall find Him, as we have heard, lying in a manger. Let us\nnot tarry, but let us gather our choicest treasures to lay at His feet,\nand set out without delay across the hills toward Bethlehem.\"\n\n\"Oh, my father,\" whispered Madelon, \"permit me to go with thee.\" Berachah\ndid not hear her, but turned and bade the men gather together their gifts.\n\n\"I, too, father?\" asked Madelon. Still Berachah said nothing. Madelon\nslipped back into the tent, and throwing her arms around Melampo, her\nshepherd dog, whispered in his ear.\n\nSoon the shepherds returned with their gifts. Simple treasures they\nwere,--a pair of doves, a fine wool blanket, some eggs, some honey, some\nlate autumn fruits. Berachah had searched for the finest of his flock,--a\nsnow-white lamb. Across the hills toward Bethlehem in the quiet, star-lit\nnight they journeyed. As they moved silently along, the snow beneath their\nfeet was changed to grass and flowers, and the icicles which had dropped\nfrom the trees covered their pathway like stars in the Milky Way.\n\nFollowing at a distance, yet close enough to see them, came Madelon with\nMelampo at her heels. Over the hills they travelled on until Madelon lost\nsight of their own hillside. Farther and farther the shepherds went until\nthey passed David's well, and entered the city. Berachah led the way.\n\n\"How shall we know?\" whispered Simon. And the others answered, \"Hush, we\nmust await the sign.\"\n\nWhen at last they had compassed the crescent of Bethlehem's hills, they\nhalted by an open doorway at a signal from their leader. \"The manger,\"\nthey joyfully murmured, \"the manger! We have found the new-born King!\"\n\nOne by one the shepherds entered. One by one they fell on their knees.\nAway in the shadow stood the little girl, her hand on Melampo's head. In\nwonder she gazed while the shepherds presented their gifts, and were\npermitted each to hold for a moment the newborn Saviour.\n\nMelampo, the shepherd dog, crouched on the ground, as if he too, like the\nox and the ass within, would worship the Child. Madelon turned toward the\ndarkness weeping. Then, lifting her face to heaven, she prayed that God\nwould bless Mother and Baby. Melampo moved closer to her, dumbly offering\nhis companionship, and, raising his head, seemed to join in her petition.\nOnce more she looked at the worshipping circle.\n\n\"Alas,\" she grieved, \"no gift have I for the infant Saviour. Would that I\nhad but a flower to place in His hand.\"\n\nSuddenly Melampo stirred by her side, and as she turned again from the\nmanger she saw before her an angel, the light from whose face illumined\nthe darkness, and whose look of tenderness rested on her tear-stained\neyes.\n\n\"Why grievest thou, maiden?\" asked the angel.\n\n\"That I come empty-handed to the cradle of the Saviour, that I bring no\ngift to greet Him,\" she murmured.\n\n\"The gift of thine heart, that is the best of all,\" answered the angel.\n\"But that thou mayst carry something to the manger, see, I will strike\nwith my staff upon the ground.\"\n\nWonderingly Madelon waited. From the dry earth wherever the angel's staff\nhad touched sprang fair, white roses. Timidly she stretched out her hand\ntoward the nearest ones. In the light of the angel's smile she gathered\nthem, until her arms were filled with flowers. Again she turned toward the\nmanger, and quietly slipped to the circle of kneeling shepherds.\n\nCloser she crept to the Child, longing, yet fearing, to offer her gift.\n\n\"How shall I know,\" she pondered, \"whether He will receive this my gift as\nHis own?\"\n\nBerachah gazed in amazement at Madelon and the roses which she held. How\ncame his child there, his child whom he had left safe on the hillside? And\nwhence came such flowers! Truly this was a wonder night.\n\nStep by step she neared the manger, knelt, and placed a rose in the Baby's\nhand. As the shepherds watched in silence,  Mary bent over her Child, and\nMadelon waited for a sign. \"Will He accept them?\" she questioned. \"How,\noh, how shall I know?\" As she prayed in humble silence, the Baby's eyes\nopened slowly, and over His face spread a smile.\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE GRAY LAMB\n\nARCHIBALD BERESFORD SULLIVAN\n\n\nOut on the endless purple hills, deep in the\n  clasp of somber night,\nThe shepherds guarded their weary ones--\n  guarded their flocks of cloudy white,\nThat like a snowdrift in silence lay,\nSave one little lamb with its fleece of gray.\n\nOut on the hillside all alone, gazing afar with\n  sleepless eyes,\nThe little gray lamb prayed soft and low, its\n  weary face to the starry skies:\n\"O moon of the heavens so fair, so bright,\nGive me--oh, give me--a fleece of white!\"\n\nNo answer came from the dome of blue, nor\n  comfort lurked in the cypress-trees;\nBut faint came a whisper borne along on the\n  scented wings of the passing breeze:\n\"Little gray lamb that prays this night,\nI cannot give thee a fleece of white.\"\n\nThen the little gray lamb of the sleepless eyes\n    prayed to the clouds for a coat of snow,\nAsked of the roses, besought the woods; but\n    each gave answer sad and low:\n  \"Little gray lamb that prays this night,\n  We cannot give thee a fleece of white.\"\n\nLike a gem unlocked from a casket dark, like\n    an ocean pearl from its bed of blue,\nCame, softly stealing the clouds between, a\n    wonderful star which brighter grew\n  Until it flamed like the sun by day\n  Over the place where Jesus lay.\n\nEre hushed were the angels' notes of praise\n    the joyful shepherds had quickly sped\nPast rock and shadow, adown the hill, to kneel\n    at the Saviour's lowly bed;\n  While, like the spirits of phantom night,\n  Followed their flocks--their flocks of white.\n\nAnd patiently, longingly, out of the night,\n    apart from the others,--far apart,--\nCame limping and sorrowful, all alone, the\n    little gray lamb of the weary heart,\n  Murmuring, \"I must bide far away:\n  I am not worthy--my fleece is gray.\"\n\nAnd the Christ Child looked upon humbled\n    pride, at kings bent low on the earthen floor,\nBut gazed beyond at the saddened heart of the\n    little gray lamb at the open door;\nAnd he called it up to his manger low and laid\n    his hand on its wrinkled face,\nWhile the kings drew golden robes aside to\n    give to the weary one a place.\n  And the fleece of the little gray lamb was blest:\n  For, lo! it was whiter than all the rest!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn many cathedrals grand and dim, whose windows\n    glimmer with pane and lens,\nMid the odor of incense raised in prayer, hallowed\n    about with last amens,\nThe infant Saviour is pictured fair, with\n    kneeling Magi wise and old,\nBut his baby-hand rests--not on the gifts, the\n    myrrh, the frankincense, the gold--\n  But on the head, with a heavenly light,\n  Of the little gray lamb that was changed to white.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOLY NIGHT\n\nELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING\n\n\nWe sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;\nThe dumb kine from their fodder turning them,\n  Softened their horned faces\n  To almost human gazes\n  Toward the newly Born:\nThe simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks\n  Brought visionary looks,\nAs yet in their astonied hearing rung\n  The strange sweet angel-tongue:\nThe magi of the East, in sandals worn,\n  Knelt reverent, sweeping round,\n  With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground,\n  The incense, myrrh, and gold\nThese baby hands were impotent to hold:\nSo let all earthlies and celestials wait\n  Upon thy royal state.\n  Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!\n\n\n\nTHE STAR BEARER\n\nEDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\n\n\nThere were seven angels erst that spanned\n  Heaven's roadway out through space,\nLighting with stars, by God's command,\n  The fringe of that high place\nWhence plum\u00e8d beings in their joy,\nThe servitors His thoughts employ,\n  Fly ceaselessly. No goodlier band\n    Looked upward to His face.\n\nThere, on bright hovering wings that tire\n  Never, they rested mute,\nNor of far journeys had desire,\n  Nor of the deathless fruit;\nFor in and through each angel soul\nAll waves of life and knowledge roll,\n  Even as to nadir streamed the fire\n   Of their torches resolute.\n\nThey lighted Michael's outpost through\n  Where fly the armored brood,\nAnd the wintry Earth their omens knew\n  Of Spring's beatitude;\nRude folk, ere yet the promise came,\nGave to their orbs a heathen name,\n  Saying how steadfast in men's view\n    The watchful Pleiads stood.\n\nAll in the solstice of the year,\n  When the sun apace must turn,\nThe seven bright angels 'gan to hear\n  Heaven's twin gates outward yearn:\nForth with its light and minstrelsy\nA lordly troop came speeding by,\n  And joyed to see each cresset sphere\n    So gloriously burn.\n\nStaying his fearless passage then\n  The Captain of that host\nSpake with strong voice: \"We bear to men\n  God's gift the uttermost,\nWhereof the oracle and sign\nSibyl and sages may divine:\n  A star shall blazon in their ken,\n    Borne with us from your post.\n\n\"This night the Heir of Heaven's throne\n  A new-born mortal lies!\nSince Earth's first morning hath not shone\n  Such joy in seraph eyes.\"\nHe spake. The least in honor there\nAnswered with longing like a prayer,--\n  \"My star, albeit thenceforth unknown,\n   Shall light for you Earth's skies.\"\n\nOnward the blessed legion swept,\n  That angel at the head;\n(Where seven of old their station kept\n  There are six that shine instead.)\nStraight hitherward came troop and star;\nLike some celestial bird afar\n  Into Earth's night the cohort leapt\n    With beauteous wings outspread.\n\nDazzling the East beneath it there,\n  The Star gave out its rays:\nRight through the still Judean air\n  The shepherds see it blaze,--\nThey see the plume-borne heavenly throng,\nAnd hear a burst of that high song\n  Of which in Paradise aware\n    Saints count their years but days.\n\nFor they sang such music as, I deem,\n  In God's chief court of joys,\nHad stayed the flow of the crystal stream\n  And made souls in mid-flight poise;\nThey sang of Glory to Him most High,\nOf Peace on Earth abidingly,\n  And of all delights the which, men dream,\n    Nor sin nor grief alloys.\n\nBreathless the kneeling shepherds heard,\n  Charmed from their first rude fear,\nNor while that music dwelt had stirred\n  Were it a month or year:\nAnd Mary Mother drank its flow,\nCouched with her Babe divine,--and, lo!\n  Ere falls the last ecstatic word\n    Three Holy Kings draw near.\n\nWhenas the star-led shining train\n  Wheeled from their task complete,\nSkyward from over Bethlehem's plain\n  They sped with rapture fleet;\nAnd the angel of that orient star,\nThenceforth where Heaven's lordliest are,\n  Stands with a harp, while Christ doth reign,\n    A seraph near His feet.\n\n\n\nTHE VISIT OF THE WISE MEN\n\nST. MATTHEW, II, 1-12\n\n\nNow when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the\nking, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem,\n\nSaying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his\nstar in the east, and are come to worship him.\n\nWhen Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all\nJerusalem with him.\n\nAnd when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people\ntogether, he demanded of them where Christ should be born.\n\nAnd they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judaea: for thus it is written by\nthe prophet,\n\nAnd thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, art not the least among the\nprinces of Judah: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule\nmy people Israel.\n\nThen Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, inquired of them\ndiligently what time the star appeared.\n\nAnd he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the\nyoung child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may\ncome and worship him also.\n\nWhen they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they\nsaw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the\nyoung child was.\n\nWhen they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.\n\nAnd when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary\nhis mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened\ntheir treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense,\nand myrrh.\n\nAnd being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod,\nthey departed into their own country another way.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE KINGS\n\nHENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\n\n\nThree Kings came riding from far away,\nMelchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;\nThree Wise Men out of the East were they,\nAnd they travelled by night and they slept by day,\nFor their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.\n\nThe star was so beautiful, large, and clear,\n  That all the other stars of the sky\nBecame a white mist in the atmosphere,\nAnd by this they knew that the coming was near\n  Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.\n\nThree caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,\n  Three caskets of gold with golden keys;\nTheir robes were of crimson silk with rows\nOf bells and pomegranates and furbelows,\n  Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.\n\nAnd so the Three Kings rode into the West,\n  Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell,\nAnd sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,\nAnd sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,\n  With the people they met at some wayside well.\n\n\"Of the child that is born,\" said Baltasar,\n  \"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;\nFor we in the East have seen his star,\nAnd have ridden fast, and have ridden far,\n  To find and worship the King of the Jews.\"\n\nAnd the people answered, \"You ask in vain;\n  We know of no king but Herod the Great!\"\nThey thought the Wise Men were men insane,\nAs they spurred their horses across the plain,\n  Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.\n\nAnd when they came to Jerusalem,\n  Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,\nSent for the Wise Men and questioned them;\nAnd said, \"Go down unto Bethlehem,\n  And bring me tidings of this new king.\"\n\nSo they rode away; and the star stood still,\n  The only one in the gray of morn;\nYes, it stopped,--it stood still of its own free will,\nRight over Bethlehem on the hill,\n  The city of David, where Christ was born.\n\nAnd the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,\n  Through the silent street, till their horses turned\nAnd neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;\nBut the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,\n  And only a light in the stable burned.\n\nAnd cradled there in the scented hay,\n  In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,\nThe little child in the manger lay,\nThe child, that would be king one day\n  Of a kingdom not human but divine.\n\nHis mother Mary of Nazareth\n  Sat watching beside his place of rest,\nWatching the even flow of his breath,\nFor the joy of life and the terror of death\n  Were mingled together in her breast.\n\nThey laid their offerings at his feet:\n  The gold was their tribute to a King,\nThe frankincense, with its odor sweet,\nWas for the Priest, the Paraclete,\n  The myrrh for the body's burying.\n\nAnd the mother wondered and bowed her head,\n  And sat as still as a statue of stone;\nHer heart was troubled yet comforted,\nRemembering what the Angel had said\n  Of an endless reign and of David's throne.\n\nThen the Kings rode out of the city gate,\n  With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;\nBut they went not back to Herod the Great,\nFor they knew his malice and feared his hate,\n  And returned to their homes by another way.\n\n\n\nTHE THREE HOLY KINGS\n\nADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND, AND OTHER\nSOURCES\n\n\nIn a far country, in the days before Jesus was born in Judea, there were\ngreat astrologers who studied the heavens by night and by day, for they\nknew of the prophecy which said that a star shall be born or spring out of\nJacob, and a man shall arise of the lineage of Israel. And twelve of them\nwere chosen to take heed, who every year ascended upon a mountain which\nwas called the Hill of Victory. Three days they abode there, and prayed\nour Lord that He would show to them the star that Balaam had said and\nprophesied.\n\nNow it happened on a time, that they were there on the day of the Nativity\nof Jesus Christ, and a star came over them upon this mountain, which had\nthe form of a right fair child, and under his head was a shining cross,\nand from this cross came a voice saying: \"To-day is there born a King in\nJudea.\"\n\nNow in Arabia, the land in which the soil is red with gold, there reigned\na king called Melchior. And in Saba, where frankincense flows from the\ntrees, the king Balthasar ruled. And in the land where myrrh hangs from\nthe bushes, the kingdom of Tharsis, reigned a third king, called Caspar.\nThese three kings also saw the star and heard the voice, and they each\nmade ready to go on a journey. And no one of the three knew that the\nothers intended thus to make a pilgrimage. And they gathered together\ntheir treasures to present to the king whom they should seek, and summoned\nthose who should attend them. So each set out with a great company and\ngreat estate. And as they journeyed they found the mountains made level as\nthe plains, while the swollen rivers became as dry land. And never did\nthey lose sight of the star, which shined upon them as the sun, always\nmoving before them to guide them on their way.\n\nBut when they were come within two miles of Jerusalem, the star\ndisappeared, a heavy fog arose, and each party halted; Melchior, as it\nfell out, taking his stand on Mount Calvary, Balthasar on the Mount of\nOlives, and Caspar just between them. And when the fog cleared away, each\nwas astonished to see two other great companies besides his own, and then\nthe kings first discovered that all had come upon the same errand, and\nthey embraced with great joy, and rode together into Jerusalem.\n\nAnd when they came into the city, Herod and all the people were troubled,\nbecause of their so great company like unto an army. Then they demanded in\nwhat place the King of the Jews was born, for, said they, \"We have seen\nHis star in the Orient, and therefore we come to worship Him.\" And when\nHerod had heard this, he was much troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.\nThen Herod called all the priests of the law, and the doctors, and\ndemanded  of them where Jesus Christ should be born. And when he had\nunderstood them that He should be born in Bethlehem, he called the three\nkings apart and demanded of them diligently the time that the star\nappeared to them. And he said to them that as soon as they should have\nfound the Child and have worshipped Him, that they should return and show\nit to him, feigning that he would worship Him also, though he thought that\nhe would go to slay Him.\n\nAnd as soon as the kings were entered into Jerusalem, the sight of the\nstar was taken from them. But when they were issued out of the city, the\nstar appeared again and went before them, until it came above the place in\nBethlehem where the Child was. And they had journeyed now full thirteen\ndays.\n\nAnd when they had entered into the place they worshipped the young Child,\nand Mary, His mother. Now the kings had brought great treasures with them,\nfor it must be known that all that Alexander the Great left at his death,\nand all that the Queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon, and all that Solomon\ncollected for the temple, had descended to the three kings from their\nancestors; and all this they had now brought with them. But when they had\nbowed down before the Child, they were filled with fear and amazement\nbecause of the so great light which was in the place. And they each\noffered quickly the first thing that came to their hands, and forgot all\ntheir other gifts. Melchior offered thirty golden pennies, Balthasar gave\nfrankincense, and Caspar myrrh; but all else they quite forgot, and only\nremembered that they bowed before the Child, and said \"Thanks be to God.\"\n\nAnd when they would have stayed to do honor to the Holy Child, an angel\ncame to them in a dream, to warn them against Herod, who would do them\nharm. So they departed each to his own country, journeying for two years.\nAnd they preached unto the people, telling them of the new-born King, and\neverywhere upon the temples men placed the figures of a star, the Child,\nand a cross.\n\nNow it happened years later that St. Thomas the Apostle journeyed to the\nfar country to preach, and that he wondered why the star was placed upon\nthe temples. Then the priests in those temples told him about the three\nkings and how they had journeyed to Bethlehem and had seen the young\nChild.\n\nAnd the three kings were very old and feeble, but when they heard about\nSt. Thomas, each set out from his own place to go to meet him. And when\nthey had come together they builded them a city, and lived together there\nfor two years, worshipping God and preaching. Then Melchior died, and was\nburied in a large and costly tomb. And when Balthasar died, he, too, was\nburied there. And at last Caspar was placed beside his companions.\n\nNow in the days of Constantine the Great, his mother Helena determined to\nfind the bodies of the three kings, and for this she made a journey to the\nfar country. And when she had found them, she brought them to\nConstantinople to the Church of St. Sophia, where they were held in much\nhonor. And from Constantinople they were taken to Milan, where again many\npilgrims came. Now when Frederick Barbarossa laid siege to the city of\nMilan, he rejoiced above all else to find them there. And by him they were\ntaken to Cologne, and there a golden shrine was built in which the bones\nof the three holy kings were placed that there they might remain until the\nJudgment day.\n\n\n\nTHE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE\n\nEUGENE FIELD\n\n\nFrom out Cologne there came three kings\n  To worship Jesus Christ, their King.\nTo Him they sought fine herbs they brought,\n  And many a beauteous golden thing;\n  They brought their gifts to Bethlehem town,\n  And in that manger set them down.\n\nThen spake the first king, and he said:\n  \"O Child, most heavenly, bright, and fair!\nI bring this crown to Bethlehem town.\n  For Thee, and only Thee, to wear;\n  So give a heavenly crown to me\n  When I shall come at last to Thee!\"\n\nThe second, then. \"I bring Thee here\n  This royal robe, O Child!\" he cried;\n\"Of silk 'tis spun, and such an one\n  There is not in the world beside;\nSo in the day of doom requite\nMe with a heavenly robe of white!\"\n\nThe third king gave his gift, and quoth:\n  \"Spikenard and myrrh to Thee I bring,\nAnd with these twain would I most fain\n  Anoint the body of my King;\n  So may their incense sometime rise\n  To plead for me in yonder skies!\"\n\nThus spake the three kings of Cologne,\n  That gave their gifts and went their way;\nAnd now kneel I in prayer hard by\n  The cradle of the Child to-day;\n  Nor crown, nor robe, nor spice I bring\n  As offering unto Christ, my King.\n\nYet have I brought a gift the Child\n  May not despise, however small;\nFor here I lay my heart to-day,\n  And it is full of love to all.\n  Take Thou the poor but loyal thing,\n  My only tribute, Christ, my King!\n\n\n\nBABOUSCKA\n\nADELAIDE SKEEL\n\n\nIf you were a Russian child you would not watch to see Santa Klaus come\ndown the chimney; but you would stand by the windows to catch a peep at\npoor Babouscka as she hurries by.\n\nWho is Babouscka? Is she Santa Klaus' wife?\n\nNo, indeed. She is only a poor little crooked wrinkled old woman, who\ncomes at Christmas time into everybody's house, who peeps into every\ncradle, turns back every coverlid, drops a tear on the baby's white\npillow, and goes away very sorrowful.\n\nAnd not only at Christmas time, but through all the cold winter, and\nespecially in March, when the wind blows loud, and whistles and howls and\ndies away like a sigh, the Russian children hear the rustling step of the\nBabouscka. She is always in a hurry. One hears her running fast along the\ncrowded streets and over the quiet country fields. She seems to be out of\nbreath and tired, yet she hurries on.\n\nWhom is she trying to overtake?\n\nShe scarcely looks at the little children as they press their rosy faces\nagainst the window pane and whisper to each other, \"Is the Babouscka\nlooking for us?\"\n\nNo, she will not stop; only on Christmas eve will she come up-stairs into\nthe nursery and give each little one a present. You must not think she\nleaves handsome gifts such as Santa Klaus brings for you. She does not\nbring bicycles to the boys or French dolls to the girls. She does not come\nin a gay little sleigh drawn by reindeer, but hobbling along on foot, and\nshe leans on a crutch. She has her old apron filled with candy and cheap\ntoys, and the children all love her dearly. They watch to see her come,\nand when one hears a rustling, he cries, \"Lo! the Babouscka!\" then all\nothers look, but one must turn one's head very quickly or she vanishes. I\nnever saw her myself.\n\nBest of all, she loves little babies, and often, when the tired mothers\nsleep, she bends over their cradles, puts her brown, wrinkled face close\ndown to the pillow and looks very sharply.\n\nWhat is she looking for?\n\nAh, that you can't guess unless you know her sad story.\n\nLong, long ago, a great many yesterdays ago, the Babouscka, who was even\nthen an old woman, was busy sweeping her little hut. She lived in the\ncoldest corner of cold Russia, and she lived alone in a lonely place where\nfour wide roads met. These roads were at this time white with snow, for it\nwas winter time. In the summer, when the fields were full of flowers and\nthe air full of sunshine and singing birds, Babouscka's home did not seem\nso very quiet; but in the winter, with only the snow-flakes and the shy\nsnow-birds and the loud wind for company, the little old woman felt very\ncheerless. But she was a busy old woman, and as it was already twilight,\nand her home but half swept, she felt in a great hurry to finish her work\nbefore bed-time. You must know the Babouscka was poor and could not afford\nto do her work by candle-light. Presently, down the widest and the\nlonesomest  of the white roads, there appeared a long train of people\ncoming. They were walking slowly, and seemed to be asking each other\nquestions as to which way they should take. As the procession came nearer,\nand finally stopped outside the little hut, Babouscka was frightened at\nthe splendor. There were Three Kings, with crowns on their heads, and the\njewels on the Kings' breastplates sparkled like sunlight. Their heavy fur\ncloaks were white with the falling snow-flakes, and the queer humpy camels\non which they rode looked white as milk in the snow-storm. The harness on\nthe camels was decorated with gold, and plates of silver adorned the\nsaddles. The saddlecloths were of the richest Eastern stuffs, and all the\nservants had the dark eyes and hair of an Eastern people.\n\nThe slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each of the Three Kings\ncarried a present. One carried a beautiful transparent jar, and in the\nfading light Babouscka could see in it a golden liquid which she knew from\nits color must be myrrh. Another had in his hand a richly woven bag, and\nit seemed to be heavy, as indeed it was, for it was full of gold. The\nthird had a stone vase in his hand, and from the rich perfume which filled\nthe snowy air, one could guess the vase to have been filled with incense.\n\nBabouscka was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut, and let\nthe servants knock a long time at her door before she dared open it and\nanswer their questions as to the road they should take to a far-away town.\nYou know she had never studied a geography lesson in her life, was old and\nstupid and scared. She knew the way across the fields to the nearest\nvillage, but she knew nothing else of all the wide world full of cities.\nThe servants scolded, but the Three Kings spoke kindly to her, and asked\nher to accompany them on their journey that she might show them the way as\nfar as she knew it. They told her, in words so simple that she could not\nfail to understand, that they had seen a Star in the sky and were\nfollowing it to a little town where a young Child lay. The snow was in the\nsky now, and the Star was lost out of sight.\n\n\"Who is the Child?\" asked the old woman.\n\n\"He is a King, and we go to worship him,\" they answered. \"These presents\nof gold, frankincense and myrrh are for Him. When we find Him we will take\nthe crowns off our heads and lay them at His feet. Come with us,\nBabouscka!\"\n\nWhat do you suppose? Shouldn't you have thought the poor little woman\nwould have been glad to leave her desolate home on the plains to accompany\nthese Kings on their journey?\n\nBut the foolish woman shook her head. No, the night was dark and\ncheerless, and her little home was warm and cosy. She looked up into the\nsky, and the Star was nowhere to be seen. Besides, she wanted to put her\nhut in order--perhaps she would be ready to go to-morrow. But the Three\nKings could not wait; so when to-morrow's sun rose they were far ahead on\ntheir journey. It seemed like a dream to poor Babouscka, for even the\ntracks of the camels' feet were covered by the deep white snow. Everything\nwas the same as usual; and to make sure that the night's visitors had not\nbeen a fancy, she found her old broom hanging on a peg behind the door,\nwhere she had put it when the servants knocked.\n\nNow that the sun was shining, and she remembered the glitter of the gold\nand the smell of the sweet gums and myrrh, she wished she had gone with\nthe travellers.\n\nAnd she thought a great deal about the little Baby the Three Kings had\ngone to worship. She had no children of her own--nobody loved her--ah, if\nshe had only gone! The more she brooded on the thought, the more miserable\nshe grew, till the very sight of her home became hateful to her.\n\nIt is a dreadful feeling to realize that one has lost a chance of\nhappiness. There is a feeling called remorse that can gnaw like a sharp\nlittle tooth. Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into her heart every\ntime she remembered the visit of the Three Kings.\n\nAfter a while the thought of the Little Child became her first thought at\nwaking and her last at night. One day she shut the door of her house\nforever, and set out on a long journey. She had no hope of overtaking the\nThree Kings, but she longed to find the Child, that she too might love and\nworship Him. She asked every one she met, and some people thought her\ncrazy, but others gave her kind answers. Have you perhaps guessed that the\nyoung Child whom the Three Kings sought was our Lord himself?\n\nPeople told Babouscka how He was born in a manger, and many other things\nwhich you children have learned long ago. These answers puzzled the old\ndame mightily. She had but one idea in her ignorant head. The Three Kings\nhad gone to seek a Baby. She would, if not too late, seek Him too.\n\nShe forgot, I am sure, how many long years had gone by. She looked in vain\nfor the Christ-child in His manger-cradle. She spent all her little\nsavings in toys and candy so as to make friends with little children, that\nthey might not run away when she came hobbling into their nurseries.\n\nNow you know for whom she is sadly seeking when she pushes back the\nbed-curtains and bends down over each baby's pillow. Sometimes, when the\nold grandmother sits nodding by the fire, and the bigger children sleep\nin their beds, old Babouscka comes hobbling into the room, and whispers\nsoftly, \"Is the young Child here?\"\n\nAh, no; she has come too late, too late. But the little children know her\nand love her. Two thousand years ago she lost the chance of finding Him.\nCrooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry, she yet lives on, looking into\neach baby's face--always disappointed, always seeking. Will she find Him\nat last?\n\n\n\nTHE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT\n\nSELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\n\nFar away, in a desert in the East, there grew, many years ago, a palm that\nwas very, very old, and very, very tall. No one passing through the desert\ncould help stopping to look at it, for it was much higher than other\npalms, and people said of it that it would surely grow to be higher than\nthe Obelisks and Pyramids.\n\nThis great palm, standing in its loneliness, and looking over the desert,\none day saw something which caused its huge crown of leaves to wave to and\nfro with surprise on its slender stem. On the outskirts of the desert two\nlonely persons were wandering. They were still so far away that even a\ncamel would have looked no larger than an ant at that distance, but they\nwere assuredly human beings, two who were strangers to the desert--for the\npalm knew the people of the desert--a man and a woman, who had neither\nguide, nor beasts of burden, nor tent, nor water-bag.\n\n\"Verily,\" said the palm to itself, \"these two have come hither to die.\"\n\nThe palm looked quickly around.\n\n\"I am surprised,\" it said, \"that the lions have not already gone out to\nseize their prey. But I do not see a single one about. Nor do I see any of\nthe robbers of the desert. But they are sure to come.\n\n\"There awaits them a sevenfold death,\" thought the palm. \"The lions will\ndevour them, the serpents will sting them, thirst will consume them, the\nsand-storm will bury them, the robbers will kill them, the burning sun\nwill overcome them, fear will destroy them.\"\n\nThe palm tried to think of something else; the fate of these two made it\nsad. But in the immeasurable desert around it there was not a single thing\nthat the palm had not known and gazed at for thousands of years. Nothing\ncould attract its attention. It was again obliged to think of the two\nwanderers.\n\n\"By the drought and the wind!\" said the palm, invoking the two greatest\nenemies of life, \"what is the woman carrying on her arm? I believe these\nmad people have a little child with them!\"\n\nThe palm, which was long-sighted, as the aged generally are, saw aright.\nThe woman carried in her arms a child, that had laid its head on her\nbreast and was sleeping.\n\n\"The child has not even enough clothes on,\" said the palm. \"I see that the\nmother has lifted up her skirt and thrown it over it. She has taken it out\nof its bed in great haste and hurried away with it. Now I understand:\nthese people are fugitives.\n\n\"But they are mad, all the same,\" continued the palm. \"If they have not an\nangel to protect them, they should rather have let their enemies do their\nworst than have taken refuge in the desert. I can imagine how it has all\nhappened. The man is at work, the child sleeps in its cradle, the woman\nhas gone to fetch water. When she has gone a few steps from the door she\nsees the enemy approaching. She rushes in, seizes the child, calls to the\nhusband that he shall follow her, and runs away. Since then they have\ncontinued their flight the whole day; they have assuredly not rested a\nsingle moment. Yes, so it has all happened; but I say all the same, if no\nangel protects them--\n\n\"They are in such fear that they do not feel either fatigue or other\nsufferings, but I read thirst in their eyes. I think I should know the\nface of a thirsty man.\"\n\nAnd when the palm began to think about thirst a fit of trembling went\nthrough its high stem, and the innumerable fronds of its long leaves\ncurled up as if held over a fire.\n\n\"If I were a man,\" it said, \"I would never venture into the desert. He is\ntruly brave who ventures here without having roots reaching down to the\ninexhaustible water-veins. There can be danger even for palms, even for\nsuch a palm as I. Could I advise them, I would beg them to return. Their\nenemies could never be as cruel to them as the desert. They think perhaps\nthat it is easy to live in the desert. But I know that even I at times\nhave had difficulty in keeping alive. I remember once in my youth when a\nwhirlwind threw a whole mountain of sand over me I was nearly choking. If\nI _could_ die I should have died then.\"\n\nThe palm continued to think aloud, as lonely old people do.\n\n\"I hear a wonderful melodious murmur passing through my crown,\" it said;\n\"all the fronds of my leaves must be moving. I do not know why the sight\nof these poor strangers moves me so. But this sorrowful woman is so\nbeautiful! It reminds me of the most wonderful thing that ever happened to\nme.\"\n\nAnd whilst its leaves continued their melodious rustle the palm remembered\nhow once, long, long ago, a glorious human being had visited the oasis. It\nwas the Queen of Sheba, accompanied by the wise King Solomon. The\nbeautiful Queen was on her way back to her own country; the King had\naccompanied her part of the way, and now they were about to part. \"In\nmemory of this moment,\" said the Queen, \"I now plant a date-kernel in the\nearth; and I ordain that from it shall grow a palm which shall live and\ngrow until a King is born in Judaea greater than Solomon.\" And as she said\nthis she placed the kernel in the ground, and her tears watered it.\n\n\"How can it be that I should just happen to think of this to-day?\" said\nthe palm. \"Can it be possible that this woman is so beautiful that she\nreminds me of the most beautiful of all queens, of her at whose bidding I\nhave lived and grown to this very day? I hear my leaves rustling stronger\nand stronger,\" said the palm, \"and it sounds sorrowful, like a death-song.\nIt is as if they prophesied that someone should soon pass away. It is well\nto know that it is not meant for me, inasmuch that I cannot die.\"\n\nThe palm thought that the death-song in its leaves must be for the two\nlonely wanderers. They themselves surely thought that their last hour was\ndrawing near. One could read it in their faces when they walked past one\nof the skeletons of the camels that lay by the roadside. One saw it from\nthe glances with which they watched a couple of vultures flying past. It\ncould not be otherwise--they must perish.\n\nThey had now discovered the palm in the oasis, and hastened thither to\nfind water. But when they at last reached it they sank down in despair,\nfor the well was dried up. The woman, exhausted, laid down the child, and\nsat down crying by the side of the well. The man threw himself down by her\nside; he lay and beat the ground with his clenched hands. The palm heard\nthem say to each other that they must die. It also understood from their\nconversation  that King Herod had caused all children of two or three\nyears of age to be killed from fear that the great expected King in Judaea\nhad been born.\n\n\"It rustles stronger and stronger in my leaves,\" said the palm. \"These\npoor fugitives have soon come to their last moment.\"\n\nIt also heard that they were afraid of the desert. The man said it would\nhave been better to remain and fight the soldiers than to flee. He said\nthat it would have been an easier death.\n\n\"God will surely help us,\" said the woman.\n\n\"We are all alone amongst serpents and beasts of prey,\" said the man. \"We\nhave no food and no water. How can God help us?\"\n\nHe tore his clothes in despair and pressed his face against the earth. He\nwas hopeless, like a man with a mortal wound in his heart.\n\nThe woman sat upright, with her hands folded upon her knees. But the\nglances she cast over the desert spoke of unutterable despair.\n\nThe palm heard the sorrowful rustling in its leaves grow still stronger.\nThe woman had evidently heard it too, for she looked up to the crown of\nthe tree, and in the same moment she involuntarily raised her arms.\n\n\"Dates, dates!\" she cried.\n\nThere was such a longing in her voice, that the old palm wished it had not\nbeen any higher than the gorse, and that its dates had been as easy to\nreach as the red berries of the hawthorn. It knew that its crown was full\nof clusters of dates, but how could man reach to such a dazzling height?\n\nThe man had already seen that, the dates being so high, it was impossible\nto reach them. He did not even lift his head. He told his wife that she\nmust not wish for the impossible.\n\nBut the child, which had crawled about alone and was playing with sticks\nand straws, heard the mother's exclamation. The little one could probably\nnot understand why his mother should not have everything she wished for.\nAs soon as he heard the word \"dates,\" he began to look at the tree. He\nwondered and pondered how he should get the dates. There came almost\nwrinkles on his forehead under the fair locks. At last a smile passed over\nhis face. Now he knew what he would do. He went to the palm, stroked it\nwith his little hand, and said in his gentle, childish voice:\n\n\"Bend down, palm. Bend down, palm.\"\n\nBut what was this, what could this be? The palm-leaves rustled, as if a\nhurricane rushed through them, and shudder upon shudder passed through the\ntall stem. And the palm felt that the little one was the stronger. It\ncould not resist him.\n\nAnd with its high stem it bowed down before the child, as men bow down\nbefore princes. In a mighty arch it lowered itself towards earth, and at\nlast bowed so low that its great crown of trembling leaves swept the sand\nof the desert.\n\nThe child did not seem to be either frightened or surprised, but with a\njoyous exclamation it ran and plucked one cluster after another from the\ncrown of the old palm.\n\nWhen the child had gathered enough, and the tree was still lying on the\nearth, he again went to it, stroked it, and said in his gentlest voice:\n\n\"Arise, palm, arise.\"\n\nAnd the great tree raised itself silently and obediently on its stem,\nwhilst the leaves played like harps.\n\n\"Now I know for whom they play the death-song,\" the old palm said to\nitself, when it again stood erect. \"It is not for any of these strangers.\"\n\nBut the man and woman knelt down on their knees and praised God.\n\n\"Thou hast seen our fear and taken it from us. Thou art the Mighty One,\nthat bends the stem of the palm like a reed. Of whom should we be afraid\nwhen Thy strength protects us?\"\n\nNext time a caravan passed through the desert, one of the travellers saw\nthat the crown of the great palm had withered.\n\n\"How can that have happened?\" said the traveller. \"Have we not heard that\nthis palm should not die before it had seen a King greater than Solomon?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it has seen Him,\" answered another wanderer of the desert.\n\n\n\nTHE HAUGHTY ASPEN\n\n_A German Legend_\n\nNORA ARCHIBALD SMITH\n\n\nAs I went through the tangled wood\n  I heard the Aspen shiver.\n\"What dost thou ail, sweet Aspen, say,\n  Why do thy leaflets quiver?\"\n\n\"'Twas long ago,\" the Aspen sighed--\n  How long is past my knowing--\n\"When Mary Mother rode adown\n  This wood where I was growing.\nBlest Joseph journey'd by her side,\n  Upon his good staff resting,\nAnd in her arms the Heav'nly Babe,\n  Dove of the World, was nesting.\nFair was the mother, shining-fair,\n  A lily sweetly blowing;\nThe Babe was but a lily-bud,\n  Like to his mother showing.\n\nThe birds began, 'Thy Master comes!\n  Bow down, bow down before Him!'\nThe date, the fig, the hazel tree,\nIn rev'rence bent to adore Him.\nI only, out of all the host\n  Of bird and tree and flower,--\nI, haughty, would not bow my head,\n  Nor own my Master's power.\n'Proud Aspen,' quoth the Mother-Maid,\n  'Thy Lord, dost thou defy Him?\nWhen emperors worship at His shrine,\n  Wilt courtesy deny Him?'\nI heard her voice; my heart was rent,\n  My boughs began to shiver,\nAnd age on age, in punishment,\n  My sorrowing leaflets quiver.\"\n\nStill in the dark and tangled wood,\n  Still doth the Aspen quiver.\nThe haughty tree doth bear a curse,\n  Her leaflets aye must shiver.\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE MUD-SPARROWS\n\n_Jewish Legend_\n\nELIZABETH STUART PHELPS\n\n\nI like that old, kind legend\n  Not found in Holy Writ,\nAnd wish that John or Matthew\n  Had made Bible out of it.\n\nBut though it is not Gospel,\n  There is no law to hold\nThe heart from growing better\n  That hears the story told:--\n\nHow the little Jewish children\n  Upon a summer day,\nWent down across the meadows\n  With the Child Christ to play.\n\nAnd in the gold-green valley,\n  Where low the reed-grass lay,\n\nThey made them mock mud-sparrows\n  Out of the meadow clay.\n\nSo, when these all were fashioned,\n  And ranged in rows about,\n\"Now,\" said the little Jesus,\n  \"We'll let the birds fly out.\"\n\nThen all the happy children\n  Did call, and coax, and cry--\nEach to his own mud-sparrow:\n  \"Fly, as I bid you! Fly!\"\n\nBut earthen were the sparrows,\n  And earth they did remain,\nThough loud the Jewish children\n  Cried out, and cried again.\n\nExcept the one bird only\n  The little Lord Christ made;\nThe earth that owned Him Master,\n  --His earth heard and obeyed.\n\nSoftly He leaned and whispered:\n  \"Fly up to Heaven! Fly!\"\nAnd swift, His little sparrow\n  Went soaring to the sky,\n\nAnd silent, all the children\n  Stood, awestruck, looking on,\nTill, deep into the heavens,\n  The bird of earth had gone.\n\nI like to think, for playmate\n  We have the Lord Christ still,\nAnd that still above our weakness\n  He works His mighty will,\n\nThat all our little playthings\n  Of earthen hopes and joys\nShall be, by His commandment,\n  Changed into heavenly toys.\n\nOur souls are like the sparrows\n  Imprisoned in the clay,\nBless Him who came to give them wings\n  Upon a Christmas Day!\n\n\n\nTHE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE\nCLAN OF PEACE\n\nFIONA MACLEOD\n\n\nI will tell this Legend as simply but also with what beauty I can, because\nthe words of the old Highland woman, who told it to me,...though simple\nwere beautiful with ancient idiom.\n\nWe must go back near twenty hundred years.... It was in the last month of\nthe last year of the seven years' silence and peace: the seventh year in\nthe mortal life of Jesus the Christ. It was on the twenty-fifth day of\nthat month, the day of His holy birth.\n\nIt was a still day. The little white flowers that were called Breaths of\nHope and that we now call Stars of Bethlehem were so hushed in quiet that\nthe shadows of moths lay on them like the dark motionless violet in the\nhearts of pansies. In the long swards of tender grass the multitude of the\ndaisies were white as milk faintly stained with flusht dews fallen from\nroses. On the meadows of white poppies were long shadows blue as the blue\nlagoons of the sky among drifting snow-white moors of cloud. Three white\naspens on the pastures were in a still sleep: their tremulous leaves made\nno rustle, though there was a soundless wavering fall of little dusky\nshadows, as in the dark water of a pool where birches lean in the yellow\nhour of the frostfire. Upon the pastures were ewes and lambs sleeping, and\nyearling kids opened and closed their onyx eyes among the garths of white\nclover.\n\nIt was the Sabbath, and Jesus walked alone. When He came to a little rise\nin the grass He turned and looked back at the house where His parents\ndwelled. Joseph sat on a bench, with bent shoulders, and was dreaming with\nfixt gaze into the west, as seamen stare across the interminable wave at\nthe pale green horizons that are like the grassy shores of home. Mary was\nstanding, dressed in long white raiment, white as a lily, with her right\nhand shading her eyes as she looked to the east, dreaming her dream.\n\nThe young Christ sighed, but with the love of all love in His heart. \"So\nshall it be till the day of days,\" He said aloud; \"even so shall the\nhearts of men dwell among shadows and glories, in the West of passing\nthings: even so shall that which is immortal turn to the East and watch\nfor the coming of Joy through the Gates of Life.\"\n\nAt the sound of His voice He heard a sudden noise as of many birds, and\nturned and looked beyond the low upland where He stood. A pool of pure\nwater lay in the hollow, fed by a ceaseless wellspring, and round it and\nover it circled birds whose breasts were grey as pearl and whose necks\nshone purple and grass-green and rose. The noise was of their wings, for\nthough the birds were beautiful they were voiceless and dumb as flowers.\n\nAt the edge of the pool stood two figures, whom He knew to be of the\nangelic world because of their beauty, but who had on them the illusion of\nmortality so that the child did not know them. But He saw that one was\nbeautiful as Night, and one beautiful as Morning.\n\nHe drew near.\n\n\"I have lived seven years,\" He said, \"and I wish to send peace to the far\nends of the world.\"\n\n\"Tell your secret to the birds,\" said one.\n\n\"Tell your secret to the birds,\" said the\nother.\n\nSo Jesus called to the birds.\n\n\"Come,\" He cried; and they came.\n\nSeven came flying from the left, from the side of the angel beautiful as\nNight. Seven came flying from the right, from the side of the angel\nbeautiful as Morning.\n\nTo the first He said: \"Look into my heart.\"\n\nBut they wheeled about Him, and with newfound voices mocked, crying, \"How\ncould we see into your heart that is hidden\" ... and mocked and derided,\ncrying, \"What is Peace! ... Leave  us alone! Leave us alone!\"\n\nSo Christ said to them:\n\n\"I know you for the birds of Ahriman, who is not beautiful but is Evil.\nHenceforth ye shall be black as night, and be children of the winds.\"\n\nTo the seven other birds which circled about Him, voiceless, and brushing\ntheir wings against His arms, He cried:\n\n\"Look into my heart.\"\n\nAnd they swerved and hung before Him in a maze of wings, and looked into\nHis pure heart: and, as they looked, a soft murmurous sound came from\nthem, drowsy-sweet, full of peace: and as they hung there like a breath in\nfrost they became white as snow.\n\n\"Ye are the Doves of the Spirit,\" said Christ, \"and to you I will commit\nthat which ye have seen. Henceforth shall your plumage be white and your\nvoices be the voices of peace.\"\n\nThe young Christ turned, for He heard Mary calling to the sheep and goats,\nand knew that dayset was come and that in the valleys the gloaming was\nalready rising like smoke from the urns of the twilight. When He looked\nback He saw by the pool neither the Son of Joy nor the Son of Sorrow, but\nseven white doves were in the cedar beyond the pool, cooing in low ecstasy\nof peace and awaiting through sleep and dreams the rose-red pathways of\nthe dawn. Down the long grey reaches of the ebbing day He saw seven birds\nrising and falling on the wind, black as black water in caves, black as\nthe darkness of night in old pathless woods.\n\nAnd that is how the first doves became white, and how the first crows\nbecame black and were called by a name that means the clan of darkness,\nthe children of the wind.\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD JESUS IN THE GARDEN\n\nAUTHOR UNKNOWN\n\n\nCold was the day, when in a garden bare,\n  Walked the Child Jesus, wrapt in holy thought;\nHis brow seemed clouded with a weight of care;\n  Calmness and rest from worldly things he sought.\n\nSoon was his presence missed within his home;\n  His mother gently marked his every way;\nForth then she came to seek where he did roam.\n  Full of sweet words his trouble to allay.\n\nThrough chilling snow she toiled to reach his side,\n  Forcing her way mid branches brown and sere,\nHastening that she his sorrows might divide,\n  Share all his woe, or calm his gloomy fear.\n\nSweet was her face, as o'er his head she bent,\n  Longing to melt his look of saddest grief.\nWith lifted eyes, his ear to her he lent;\n  Her kindly solace brought his soul relief.\n\nThen did he smile--a smile of love so deep,\n  Winter himself grew warm beneath its glow;\nFrom drooping branches scented blossoms peep;\n  Up springs the grass; the seal\u00e8d fountains flow.\n\nSummer and spring did with each other vie,\n  Offering to Him the fragrance of their store;\nChanting sweet notes, the birds around him fly,\n  Wondering why earth had checkered so her floor.\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTIC THORN\n\nADAPTED FROM TRADITIONAL SOURCES\n\n\n\"Three hawthornes also that groweth in Werall\nDo burge and bere grene leaves at Christmas\nAs fresshe as other in May.\"\n\nIt was Christmas day in the year 63. The autumn colors of red and gold had\nlong since faded from the hills, and the trees which covered the island\nvalley of Glastonbury, the Avalon or Apple-tree isle of the early Britons,\nwere bare and leafless. The spreading, glass-like waters encircling it\nround about gleamed faintly in the pale afternoon light of the winter's\nday. The light fell also on the silver stems of the willows and on the\ntall flags and bending reeds and osiers which bordered the marsh island.\nWestward the long ranges of hills running seaward were purple in the\ndistance and their tops were partly hidden by the misty white clouds which\nrested lightly upon them. To the south rose sharply and abruptly a high,\npointed hill, the tor of Glastonbury.\n\nIt was nearing the sunset hour when a little band of men in pilgrim garb,\napproaching from the west and climbing the long, hilly ridge, came within\nsight of this \"isle of rest.\" Twelve pilgrims there were in all, in dress\nand appearance very unlike the fair-haired Britons who at that time dwelt\nin the land. One, he who led the way, was an old man. His hair was white\nand his long, white beard fell upon his breast, but he was tall and erect\nand bore no other signs of age. In his hand he carried a stout hawthorn\nstaff.\n\nThe men were climbing slowly up the hill, for they were all weary with\nlong travelling. And here at the summit of the ridge they stopped to look\nout over the wooded hills, the wide-spreading waters and the grassy island\nwith its leafless thickets of oak and alder. Sitting down to rest, they\nspoke one to another of their long journeying from the far-distant land of\nPalestine and of their hope that here their pilgrimage might have end.\n\nThose who were with him called their leader Joseph of Arimathea. He it was\nwho had been known among the Jews many years before as a counsellor, \"a\ngood man, and a just,\" and who, when the Saviour was crucified on Calvary,\nhad given his sepulchre to receive the body of the Lord.\n\nFrom this tomb upon the third day came the risen Saviour; but the people,\nthinking that Joseph had stolen away the body, seized and imprisoned him\nin a chamber where there was no window. They fastened the door and put a\nseal upon the lock and placed men before the door to guard it. Then the\npriests and the Levites contrived to what death they should put him; but\nwhen they sent for Joseph to be brought forth he could not be found,\nthough the seal was still upon the lock and the guard before the door.\n\nThe disciples of Joseph as they gathered about their fire of an evening\noften told how, at night, as he prayed, the prison chamber had been filled\nwith a light brighter than that of the sun, and Jesus himself had appeared\nto him and had led him forth unharmed to his own house in Arimathea.\n\nAnd sometimes they told how, again imprisoned, he had been fed from the\nHoly Cup from which the Saviour had drunk at the \"last sad supper with his\nown\" and in which Joseph had caught the blood of his Master when he was on\nthe cross, and how he had been blest with such heavenly visions that the\nyears passed and seemed to him as naught.\n\nNow after a certain time he had been released from prison; but there were\npeople who still doubted him and so with his friends, Lazarus and Mary\nMagdalene and Philip and others, he had been driven away from Jerusalem.\nThe small vessel, without oars, rudder or sail, in which they had been\ncast adrift on the Mediterranean, had come at last in safety to the coast\nof Gaul. And for many years since then had Joseph wandered through the\nland carrying ever with him two precious relics, the Holy Grail and \"that\nsame spear wherewith the Roman pierced the side of Christ.\" Now at last\nwith a chosen band of disciples he had reached the little-known island of\nthe Britons.\n\nLanding from their little boat in the early morn on this unknown coast,\nthey had knelt upon the shore while Joseph \"gave blessing to the God of\nheaven in a lowly chanted prayer.\" Then, \"over the brow of the seaward\nhill\" they had passed, led by an invisible hand and singing as they went.\nAll day through dark forests and over reedy swamps they had made their way\nand now at nightfall, tired and wayworn, they rested on the ridgy hill\nwhich has ever since been known by the name of Wearyall.\n\nDuring the long day's march they had seen but few of the people of the\nland and these had held aloof.\n\nNow, suddenly, the silence was broken by loud cries and shouts, and groups\nof the native Britons, wild and uncouth in appearance, their half-naked\nbodies stained blue with woad, were seen coming from different directions\nup the hill. They were armed with spears, hatchets of bronze, and other\nrude weapons of olden warfare and, as they came rapidly nearer, their\nthreatening aspect and menacing cries startled the pilgrim band. Rising\nhastily, as though they would flee, the men looked in terror, one toward\nanother. Joseph alone showed no trace of fear and, obedient to a sign from\nhim, they all knelt in prayer upon the hillside.\n\nThen, thrusting his thorny staff into the ground beside him and raising\nboth hands toward heaven, Joseph claimed possession of this new land in\nthe name of his Master, Christ.\n\n\"'This staff hath borne me long and well,'\nThen spake that saint divine,\n'Over mountain and over plain,\nOn quest of the Promise-sign;\nFor aye let it stand in this western land,\nAnd God do no more to me\nIf there ring not out from this realm about,\n_Tibi gloria, Domine._'\"\n\nHis voice ceased and the men rose from their knees, looking expectantly\nfor the heavenly sign, but ready, if need be, to meet with courage the\nthreatened attack.\n\nBut stillness had again settled over the hill. Only a few rods distant the\nBritons had stopped and grouped closely together were gazing in awestruck\nsilence upon the dry and withered staff, which had so often aided Joseph\nin his wanderings from the Holy Land. Following their gaze, Joseph and his\ncompanions turned toward it and even as they did so, behold! A miracle!\nThe staff took root and grew and, as they watched, they saw it put forth\nbranches and green leaves, fair buds and milk-white blossoms which filled\nthe air with their sweet odor.\n\nFor a moment, awed and amazed, all stood silent. Wondrously had Joseph's\nprayer been answered! This was indeed the heavenly token which had been\nforetold! Then with tears of joy all cried out as with one voice, \"Our God\nis with us! Jesus is with us!\"\n\nMarvelling much at the strange things they had just seen and heard, the\nBritons dropped their weapons and fled in haste from the hill.\n\nThen did Joseph and his disciples go down across the marsh into the valley\nand there they rested undisturbed.\n\nWord of the miracle which had thus been wrought on Wearyall Hill was\nbrought soon to Arviragus, the heathen king of the time, and he welcomed\ngladly the holy men and gave them the beautiful vale of Avalon whereon to\nlive. There they built \"a little lonely church,\" with roof of rushes and\nwalls of woven twigs and \"wattles from the marsh,\" the first Christian\nchurch which had ever been built in Britain.\n\nThere they dwelt for many years, serving God, fasting and praying, and\nthere Joseph taught the half-barbarous Britons, who gathered to listen to\nhim, the faith of Christ.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTime passed and the little, low, wattled church became a great and\nbeautiful abbey. Many pilgrims there were who came to worship at the\nshrine of St. Joseph; to drink from the holy well which sprang from the\nfoot of Chalice Hill where the Holy Cup lay buried; and to watch the\nbudding of the mystic thorn, which, year after year, when the snows of\nChristmas covered the hills, put forth its holy blossoms, \"a symbol of\nGod's promise, care and love.\"\n\nNow long, long afterward there came a time when there was war in the land\nand one day a rough soldier who recked not of its heavenly origin cut down\nthe sacred tree. Only a flat stone now marks the place where it once stood\nand where Joseph's staff burst into bloom. But there were other trees\nwhich had been grown from slips of the miraculous thorn and these,\n\"mindful of our Lord\" still keep the sacred birthday and blossom each year\non Christmas Day.\n\n\n\nTHE BLOOMING OF THE WHITE THORN\n\nEDITH MATILDA THOMAS\n\n\nGod shield ye, comrades of the road!\n  And while our way we hold,\nList while I tell how it first befell\n  In the wondrous days of old.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom off the sea, the pilgrims came,\n  With sea-toil wracked and worn;\nThe air blew keen, and the frost was sheen,\n  Upon that wintry morn.\n\nThrough Glastonbury street went they;\n  And ever on, and on,\nTill they pass the well of the fairy spell,\n  And the oak of Avalon.\n\nThey hear the rustling leaves and few,\n  That linger on the bough;\nBut still they fare through the bitter air,\n  And climb a hill-slope now.\n\nOn Weary-All-Hill their feet they stay\n  (Full well that Hill ye know);\nThere may they rest, by toil oppressed,\n  While round them drops the snow.\n\nAnd one--far gone in age was he--\n  As snow, his locks were white--\nThe staff of thorn which he had borne,\n  Did plant upon that height.\n\nA thorn-stick dry, that pilgrim staff,\n  He set it in the ground:\nAnd, swift as sight, with blossoms white\n  The branching staff was crowned!\n\nEach year since then (if sooth men say)\n  Upon this Blessed Morn,\nWho climbs that Hill, may see at will\n  The flower upon the thorn!\n\nHowe'er the wind may drive the sleet,\n  That thorn will blooming be;\nAnd some have seen a fair Child lean\n  From out that blossomed tree!\n\nOne moment only--then, apace,\n  Both flower and leaf are shorn;\nAnd, gaunt and chill, on Weary-All-Hill,\n  There stands an ancient thorn!\n\nGod shield ye, comrades of the road--\n  With grace your spirits fill,\nThat ye may see the White-thorn tree\n  A-bloom on Weary-All-Hill!\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER\n\nADAPTED FROM THE GOLDEN LEGEND\n\n\nThere was a mighty man of old who dwelt in the land of Canaan. Large was\nhe and tall of stature and stronger than any man whom the world had ever\nseen. Therefore was he called Offero, or, \"The Bearer.\" Now he served the\nking of Canaan, but he was proud of his great strength and upon a time it\ncame in his mind that he would seek the greatest king who then reigned and\nhim only would he serve and obey.\n\nSo he travelled from one country to another until at length he came to one\nwhere ruled a powerful king whose fame was great in all the land.\n\n\"Thou art the conqueror of nations?\" asked Offero.\n\n\"I am,\" replied the king.\n\n\"Then take me into your service, for I will serve none but the mightiest\nof earth.\"\n\n\"That then am I,\" returned the king, \"for truly I fear none.\"\n\nSo the king received Offero into his service and made him to dwell in his\ncourt.\n\nBut once at eventide a minstrel sang before the king a merry song in which\nhe named oft the evil one. And every time that the king heard the name of\nSatan he grew pale and hastily made the sign of the cross upon his\nforehead. Offero marvelled thereat and demanded of the king the meaning of\nthe sign and wherefore he thus crossed himself. And because the king would\nnot tell him Offero said, \"If thou tell me not, I shall no longer dwell\nwith thee.\" Then the king answered, saying, \"Always when I hear Satan\nnamed, I fear that he may have power over me and therefore I make this\nsign that he harm me not.\"\n\n\"Who is Satan?\" asked Offero.\n\n\"He is a wicked monarch,\" replied the king, \"wicked but powerful.\"\n\n\"More powerful than thou art?\"\n\n\"Aye, verily.\"\n\n\"And fearest thou that he hurt thee?\"\n\n\"That do I, and so do all.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Offero, \"is he more mighty and greater than thou art. I will\ngo seek him. Henceforth he shall be my master for I would fain serve the\nmightiest and the greatest lord of all the world.\"\n\nSo Offero departed from the king and sought Satan. Everywhere he met\npeople who had given themselves over to his rule and at last one day as he\nwas crossing a wide desert he saw a great company of knights approaching.\nOne of them, mounted upon a great black horse, came to him and demanded\nwhither he went, and Offero made answer, \"I seek Satan, for he is mighty,\nand I would fain serve him.\"\n\nThen returned the knight, \"I am he whom thou seekest.\"\n\nWhen Offero heard these words he was right glad and took Satan to be his\nlord and master.\n\nThis king was indeed powerful and a long time did Offero serve him, but it\nchanced one day as they were journeying together they came to a place\nwhere four roads met and in the midst of the space stood a little cross.\nAs soon as Satan saw the cross he was afraid and turned quickly aside and\nfled toward the desert. Offero followed him marvelling much at the sight.\nAnd after, when they had come back to the highway they had left, he\ninquired of Satan why he was thus troubled and had gone so far out of his\nway to avoid the cross. But Satan answered him not a word.\n\nThen Offero said to him, \"If thou wilt not tell me, I shall depart from\nthee straightway and shall serve thee no more.\"\n\n\"Know then,\" said Satan, \"there was a man called Christ who suffered on\nthe cross and whenever I see his sign I am sore afraid and flee from it,\nlest he destroy me.\"\n\n\"If then thou art afraid of his sign,\" cried Offero, \"he is greater and\nmore mighty than thou, and I see well that I have labored in vain, for I\nhave not found the greatest lord of the world. I will serve thee no\nlonger. Go thy way alone, for I will go to seek Christ.\"\n\nAnd when he had long sought and demanded where he should find Him, he came\nat length into a great desert where dwelt a hermit, a servant of the\nChrist. The hermit told him of the Master whom he was seeking and said to\nhim, \"This king whom thou dost wish to serve is not an earthly ruler and\nhe requireth that thou oft fast and make many prayers.\"\n\nBut Offero understood not the meaning of worship and prayer and he\nanswered, \"Require of me some other thing and I shall do it, but I know\nnaught of this which thou requirest.\"\n\nThen the hermit said to him, \"Knowest thou the river, a day's journey from\nhere, where there is neither ford nor bridge and many perish and are lost?\nThou art large and strong. Therefore go thou and dwell by this river and\nbear over all who desire to cross its waters. That is a service which will\nbe well pleasing to the Christ whom thou desirest to serve, and sometime,\nif I mistake not, he whom thou seekest will come to thee.\"\n\nOffero was right joyful at these words and answered, \"This service may I\nwell do.\"\n\nSo he hastened to the river and upon its banks he built himself a little\nhut of reeds. He bare a great pole in his hand to sustain him in the water\nand many weary wayfarers did he help to cross the turbulent stream. So he\nlived a long time, bearing over all manner of people without ceasing, and\nstill he saw nothing of the Christ.\n\nNow it happened one night that a storm was raging and the river was very\nhigh. Tired with his labors, Offero had just flung himself down on his\nrude bed to sleep when he heard the voice of a child which called him and\nsaid, \"Offero, Offero, come out and bear me over.\"\n\nOffero arose and went out from his cabin, but in the darkness he could see\nno one. And when he was again in the house, he heard the same voice and he\nran out again and found no one. A third time he heard the call and going\nout once more into the storm, there upon the river bank he found a fair\nyoung child who besought him in pleading tones, \"Wilt thou not carry me\nover the river this night, Offero?\"\n\nThe strong man gently lifted the child on his shoulders, took his staff\nand stepped into the stream. And the water of the river arose and swelled\nmore and more and the child was heavy as lead. And alway as he went\nfarther, higher and higher swelled the waters and the child more and more\nwaxed heavy, insomuch that he feared that they would both be drowned.\nAlready his strength was nearly gone, but he thought of his Master whom he\nhad not yet seen, and staying his footsteps with his palm staff struggled\nwith all his might to reach the opposite shore. As at last he climbed the\nsteep bank, suddenly the storm ceased and the waters calmed.\n\nHe set the child down upon the shore, saying, \"Child, thou hast put me in\ngreat peril. Had I carried the whole world on my shoulders, the weight had\nnot been greater. I might bear no greater burden.\"\n\n\"Offero,\" answered the child, \"Marvel not, but rejoice; for thou hast\nborne not only all the world upon thee, but thou hast borne him that\ncreated and made all the world upon thy shoulders. I am Christ the king\nwhom thou servest in this work. And for a token, that thou mayst know what\nI say to be the truth, set thy staff in the earth by thy house and thou\nshalt see in the morning that it shall bear flowers and fruit.\" With these\nwords the child vanished from Offero's sight.\n\nBut Offero did even as he was bidden and set his staff in the earth and\nwhen he arose on the morrow, he found it like a palm-tree bearing flowers\nand leaves and clusters of dates. Then he knew that it was indeed Christ\nwhom he had borne through the waters and he rejoiced that he had found his\nMaster. From that day he served Christ faithfully and was no more called\nOffero, but Christopher, the Christ bearer.\n\n\n\nST. CHRISTOPHER OF THE GAEL\n\nFIONA MACLEOD\n\n\nBehind the wattle-woven house\nNial the Mighty gently crept\nFrom out a screen of ashtree boughs\nTo where a captive white-robe slept.\n\nLightly he moved, as though ashamed;\nTo right and left he glanced his fears.\nNial the Mighty was he named\nThough but an untried youth in years--\n\nBut tall he was, as tall as he,\nWhite Dermid of the magic sword,\nOr Torcall of the Hebrid Sea\nOr great Cuhoolin of the Ford;\n\nStrong as the strongest, too, he was:\nAs Balor of the Evil Eye;\nAs Fionn who kept the Ulster Pass\nFrom dawn till blood-flusht sunset sky.\n\nMuch had he pondered all that day\nThe mystery of the men who died\nOn crosses raised along the way,\nAnd perished singing side by side.\n\nModred the chief had sailed the Moyle,\nHad reached Iona's guardless-shore,\nHad seized the monks when at their toil\nAnd carried northward, bound, a score.\n\nSome he had thrust into the deep,\nTo see if magic fins would rise:\nSome from high rocks he forced to leap,\nTo see wings fall from out the skies:\n\nSome he had pinned upon tall spears,\nSome tossed on shields with brazen clang,\nTo see if through their blood and tears\nTheir god would hear the hymns they sang.\n\nBut when his oarsmen flung their oars,\nAnd laughed to see across the foam\nThe glimmer of the highland shores\nAnd smoke-wreaths of the hidden home,\n\nModred was weary of his sport.\nAll day he brooded as he strode\nBetwixt the reef-encircled port\nAnd the oak-grove of the Sacred Road.\n\nAt night he bade his warriors raise\nSeven crosses where the foamswept strand\nLay still and white beyond the blaze\nOf the hundred camp-fires of the land.\n\nThe women milked the late-come kye,\nThe children raced in laughing glee;\nLike sheep from out the fold of the sky\nStars leapt and stared at earth and sea.\n\nAt times a wild and plaintive air\nMade delicate music far away:\nA hill-fox barked before its lair:\nThe white owl hawked its shadowy prey.\n\nBut at the rising of the moon\nThe druids came from grove and glen,\nAnd to the chanting of a rune\nCrucified St. Columba's men.\n\nThey died in silence side by side,\nBut first they sang the evening hymn:\nBy midnight all but one had died,\nAt dawn he too was grey and grim.\n\nOne monk alone had Modred kept,\nA youth with hair of golden-red,\nWho never once had sighed or wept,\nNot once had bowed his proud young head.\n\nBroken he lay, and bound with thongs.\nThus had he seen his brothers toss\nLike crows transfixed upon great prongs,\nTill death crept up each silent cross.\n\nNight grew to dawn, to scarlet morn;\nDay waned to firelit, star-lit night:\nBut still with eyes of passionate scorn\nHe dared the worst of Modred's might.\n\nWhen from the wattle-woven house\nNial the Mighty softly stepped,\nAnd peered beneath the ashtree boughs\nTo where he thought the white-robe slept,\n\nHe heard the monk's words rise in prayer.\nHe heard a hymn's ascending breath--\n\"Christ, Son of God, to Thee I fare\nThis night upon the wings of death.\"\n\nNial the Mighty crossed the space,\nHe waited till the monk had ceased;\nThen, leaning o'er the foam-white face,\nHe stared upon the dauntless priest.\n\n\"Speak low,\" he said, \"and tell me this:\nWho is the king you hold so great?--\nYour eyes are dauntless flames of bliss\nThough Modred taunts you with his hate:--\n\n\"This god or king, is He more strong\nThan Modred is? And does He sleep\nThat thus your death-in-life is long,\nAnd bonds your aching body keep?\"\n\nThe monk's eyes stared in Nial's eyes:\n\"Young giant with a child's white heart,\nI see a cross take shape and rise,\nAnd thou upon it nail\u00e8d art!\"\n\nNial looked back: no cross he saw\nLooming from out the dreadful night:\nYet all his soul was filled with awe,\nA thundercloud with heart of light.\n\n\"Tell me thy name,\" he said, \"and why\nThou waitest thus the druid knife,\nAnd carest not to live or die?\nMonk, hast thou little care of life?\"\n\n\"Great care of that I have,\" he said,\nAnd looked at Nial with eyes of fire:\n\"My life begins when I am dead,\nThere only is my heart's desire.\"\n\nNial the Mighty sighed. \"Thy words\nAre as the idle froth of foam,\nOr clashing of triumphant swords\nWhen Modred brings the foray home.\n\n\"My name is Nial: Nial the Strong:\nA lad in years, but as you see\nMore great than heroes of old song\nOr any lordly men that be.\n\n\"To Modred have I come from far,\nO'er many a hill and strath and stream.\nTo be a mighty sword in war,\nAnd this because I dreamed a dream:\n\n\"My dream was that my strength so great\nShould serve the greatest king there is:\nModred the Pict thus all men rate,\nAnd so I sought this far-off Liss.\n\n\"But if there be a greater yet,\nA king or god whom he doth fear,\nMy service he shall no more get,\nMy strength shall rust no longer here.\"\n\nThe monk's face gladdened. \"Go, now, go;\nTo Modred go: he sitteth dumb,\nAnd broods on what he fain would know:\nAnd say, '_O King, the Cross is come_!'\n\n\"Then shall the king arise in wrath,\nAnd bid you go from out his sight,\nFor if he meet you on his path\nHe'll leave you stark and still and white.\n\n\"Thus shall he show, great king and all,\nHe fears the glorious Cross of Christ,\nAnd dreads to hear slain voices call\nFor vengeance on the sacrificed.\n\n\"But, Nial, come not here again:\nLong before dawn my soul shall be\nBeyond the reach of any pain\nThat Modred dreams to prove on me.\n\n\"Go forth thyself at dawn, and say\n'This is Christ's holy natal morn,\nMy king is He from forth this day\nWhen He to save mankind was born':\n\n\"Go forth and seek a lonely place\nWhere a great river fills the wild;\nThere bide, and let thy strength be grace,\nAnd wait the Coming of a Child.\n\n\"A wondrous thing shall then befall:\nAnd when thou seek'st if it be true,\nGreen leaves along thy staff shall crawl,\nWith, flowers of every lovely hue.\"\n\nThe monk's face whitened, like sea-foam:\nSeaward he stared, and sighed \"I go--\nFarewell--my Lord Christ calls me home!\"\nNial stooped and saw death's final throe.\n\nAn hour before the dawn he rose\nAnd sought out Modred, brooding, dumb;\n\"O King,\" he said, \"my bond I close,\nKing Christ I seek: the Cross is come!\"\n\nSwift as a stag's leap from a height\nKing Modred drew his dreadful sword:\nThen as a snow-wraith, silent, white,\nHe stared and passed without a word.\n\nBefore the flush of dawn was red\nA druid came to Nial the Great:\n\"The doom of death hath Modred said,\nYet fears this Christ's mysterious hate:\n\n\"So get you hence, you giant-thewed man:\nGo your own way: come not again:\nNo more are you of Modred's clan:\nGo now, forthwith, lest you be slain.\"\n\nNial went forth with gladsome face;\nNo more of Modred's clan he was:\n\"Now, now,\" he cried, \"Christ's trail I'll trace,\nAnd nowhere turn, and nowhere pause.\"\n\nHe laughed to think how Modred feared\nThe wrath of Christ, the monk's white king:\n\"A greater than Modred hath appeared,\nTo Him my sword and strength I bring.\"\n\nAll day, all night, he walked afar:\nHe saw the moon rise white and still:\nThe evening and the morning star:\nThe sunrise burn upon the hill.\n\nHe heard the moaning of the seas,\nThe vast sigh of the sunswept plain,\nThe myriad surge of forest-trees;\nSaw dusk and night return again.\n\nAt falling of the dusk he stood\nUpon a wild and desert land:\nDark fruit he gathered for his food,\nDrank water from his hollowed hand,\n\nCut from an ash a mighty bough\nAnd trimmed and shaped it to the half:\n\"Safe in the desert am I now,\nWith sword,\" he said, \"and with this staff.\"\n\nThe stars came out: Arcturus hung\nHis ice-blue fire far down the sky:\nThe Great Bear through the darkness swung:\nThe Seven Watchers rose on high.\n\nA great moon flooded all the west.\nSilence came out of earth and sea\nAnd lay upon the husht world's breast,\nAnd breathed mysteriously.\n\nThree hours Nial walked, three hours and more:\nThen halted when beyond the plain\nHe stood upon that river's shore\nThe dying monk had bid him gain.\n\nA little house he saw: clay-wrought,\nOf wattle woven through and through:\nThen, all his weariness forgot,\nThe joy of drowning-sleep he knew.\n\nThree hours he slept, and then he heard\nA voice--and yet a voice so low\nIt might have been a dreaming bird\nSafe-nested by the rushing flow.\n\nAlmost he slept once more: then, _Hush_!\nOnce more he heard above the noise\nAnd tempest of the river's rush\nThe thin faint words of a child's voice.\n\n\"Good Sir, awake from sleep and dream,\nGood Sir, come out and carry me\nAcross this dark and raging stream\nTill safe on the other side I be.\"\n\nGreat Nial shivered on his bed:\n\"No human creature calls this night,\nIt is a wild fetch of the dead,\"\nHe thought, and shrunk, and shook with fright.\n\nOnce more he heard that infant-cry:\n\"Come out, Good Sir, or else I drown--\nCome out, Good Sir, or else I die\nAnd you, too, lose a golden crown.\"\n\n\"A golden crown\"--so Nial thought--\n\"No--no--not thus shall I be ta'en!\nKeep, ghost-of-the-night, your crown gold-wrought--\nOf sleep and peace I am full fain!\"\n\nOnce more the windy dark was filled\nWith lonely cry, with sobbing plaint:\nNial's heart grew sore, its fear was stilled,\nKing Christ, he knew, would scorn him faint.\n\n\"Up, up thou coward, thou sluggard, thou,\"\nHe cried, and sprang from off his bed--\n\"No crown thou seekest for thy brow,\nBut help for one in pain and dread!\"\n\nOut in the wide and lonely dark\nNo fetch he saw, no shape, no child:\nAlmost he turned again--but _hark_!\nA song rose o'er the waters wild:\n\nA king am I\nTho' a little Child,\nSon of God am I,\nMeek and mild,\nBeautiful\nBecause God hath said\nLet my cup be full\nOf wine and bread.\n\nCome to me\nShaken heart,\nShaken heart!\nI will not flee.\nMy heart\nIs thy heart\nO shaken heart!\nStoop to my Cup,\nSup,\nDrink of the wine:\nThe wine and the bread,\nSaith God,\nAre mine--\nMy Flesh and my Blood!\n\nThrow thy sword in the flood:\nCome, shaken heart:\nFearful thou art!\nHave no more fear--\nLo, I am here,\nThe little One,\nThe Son,\nThy Lord and thy King.\n\nIt is I who sing:\nChrist, your King....\nBe not afraid:\nLook, I am Light,\nA great star\nSeen from afar\nIn the darkness of night:\nI am Light,\nBe not afraid ...\nWade, wade\nInto the deep flood!\nThink of the Bread,\nThe Wine and the Bread\nThat are my Flesh and Blood,\nCross, cross the Flood,\nSure is the goal ...\nBe not afraid\nO Soul,\nBe not afraid!\n\nNial's heart was filled with joy and pain:\n\"This is my king, my king indeed:\nTo think that drown'd in sleep I've lain\nWhen Christ the Child-God crieth in need!\"\n\nSwift from his wattled hut he strode,\nStumbling among the grass and bent,\nAnd, seeking where the river flowed,\nFar o'er the dark flood peered and leant:\n\nThen suddenly beside him saw\nA little Child all clad in white:\nHe bowed his head in love and awe,\nThen lifted high his burthen light.\n\nHigh on his shoulders sat the Child,\nWhile with strong limbs he fared among\nThe rushing waters black and wild\nAnd where the fiercest currents swung.\n\nThe waters rose more high, more high,\nHigher and higher every yard ...\nNial stumbled on with sob and sigh,\nChrist heard him panting sore and hard.\n\n\"O Child,\" Nial cried, \"forbear, forbear!\nHark you not how these waters whirled!\nThe weight of all the earth I bear,\nThe weary weight of all the world!\"\n\n\"_Christopher_!\" ... low above the noise,\nThe rush, the darkness, Nial heard\nThe far-off music of a Voice\nThat said all things in saying one word--\n\n\"Christopher ... this thy name shall be!\nChrist-bearer is thy name, even so\nBecause of service done to me\nHeavy with weight of the world's woe.\"\n\nWith breaking sobs, with panting breath\nChristopher grasped a bent-held dune,\nThen with flung staff and as in death\nForward he fell in a heavy swoon.\n\nAll night he lay in silence there,\nBut safe from reach of surging tide:\nWhite angels had him in their care,\nChrist healed and watched him side by side.\n\nWhen all the silver wings of dawn\nHad waved above the rose-flusht east,\nChristopher woke ... his dream was gone.\nThe angelic songs had ceased.\n\nWas it a dream in very deed,\nHe wondered, broken, trembling, dazed?\nHis staff he lifted from the mead\nAnd as an upright sapling raised.\n\nLo, it was as the monk had said--\nIf he would prove the vision true,\nHis staff would blossom to its head\nWith flowers of every lovely hue.\n\nChristopher bowed: before his eyes\nChrist's love fulfilled the holy hour....\nA south-wind blew, green leaves did rise\nAnd the staff bloomed a myriad flower!\n\nChristopher bowed in holy prayer,\nWhile Christ's love fell like healing dew:\nGod's father-hand was on him there:\nThe peace of perfect peace he knew.\n\n\n\nTHE CROSS OF THE DUMB\n\n_A Christmas on Iona, Long, Long Ago_\n\nFIONA MACLEOD\n\n\nOne eve, when St. Columba strode\nIn solemn mood along the shore,\nHe met an angel on the road\nWho but a poor man's semblance bore.\n\nHe wondered much, the holy saint,\nWhat stranger sought the lonely isle,\nBut seeing him weary and wan and faint\nSt. Colum hailed him with a smile.\n\n\"Remote our lone Iona lies\nHere in the grey and windswept sea,\nAnd few are they whom my old eyes\nBehold as pilgrims bowing the knee....\n\n\"But welcome ... welcome ... stranger-guest,\nAnd come with me and you shall find\nA warm and deer-skinn'd cell for rest\nAnd at our board a welcome kind....\n\n\"Yet tell me ere the dune we cross\nHow came you to this lonely land?\nNo curraghs in the tideway toss\nAnd none is beached upon the strand!\"\n\nThe weary pilgrim raised his head\nAnd looked and smiled and said, \"From far,\nMy wandering feet have here been led\nBy the glory of a shining star....\"\n\nSt. Colum gravely bowed, and said,\n\"Enough, my friend, I ask no more;\nDoubtless some silence-vow was laid\nUpon thee, ere thou sought'st this shore:\n\n\"Now, come: and doff this raiment sad\nAnd those rough sandals from thy feet:\nThe holy brethren will be glad\nTo haven thee in our retreat.\"\n\nTogether past the praying cells\nAnd past the wattle-woven dome\nWhence rang the tremulous vesper bells\nSt. Colum brought the stranger home.\n\nFrom thyme-sweet pastures grey with dews\nThe milch-cows came with swinging tails:\nAnd whirling high the wailing mews\nScreamed o'er the brothers at their pails.\n\nA single spire of smoke arose,\nAnd hung, a phantom, in the cold:\nThree younger monks set forth to close\nThe ewes and lambs within the fold.\n\nThe purple twilight stole above\nThe grey-green dunes, the furrowed leas:\nAnd Dusk, with breast as of a dove,\nBrooded: and everywhere was peace.\n\nWithin the low refectory sate\nThe little clan of holy folk:\nThen, while the brothers mused and ate,\nThe wayfarer arose and spoke....\n\n\"O Colum of Iona-Isle,\nAnd ye who dwell in God's quiet place,\nBefore I crossed your narrow kyle\nI looked in Heaven upon Christ's face.\"\n\nThereat St. Colum's startled glance\nSwept o'er the man so poorly clad,\nAnd all the brethren looked askance\nIn fear the pilgrim-guest was mad.\n\n\"And, Colum of God's Church i' the sea\nAnd all ye Brothers of the Rood,\nThe Lord Christ gave a dream to me\nAnd bade me bring it ye as food.\n\n\"Lift to the wandering cloud your eyes\nAnd let them scan the wandering Deep....\nHark ye not there the wandering sighs\nOf brethren ye as outcasts keep?\"\n\nThereat the stranger bowed, and blessed;\nThen, grave and silent, sought his cell:\nSt. Colum mused upon his guest,\nDumb wonder on the others fell.\n\nAt dead of night the Abbot came\nTo where the weary wayfarer slept:\n\"Tell me,\" he said, \"thy holy name...\"\n--No more, for on bowed knees he wept....\n\nGreat awe and wonder fell on him;\nHis mind was like a lonely wild\nWhen suddenly is heard a hymn\nSung by a little innocent child.\n\nFor now he knew their guest to be\nNo man as he and his, but one\nWho in the Courts of Ecstasy\nWorships, flame-winged, the Eternal Son.\n\nThe poor bare cell was filled with light,\nThat came from the swung moons the Seven\nSeraphim swing day and night\nAdown the infinite walls of Heaven.\n\nBut on the fern-wove mattress lay\nNo weary guest. St. Colum kneeled,\nAnd found no trace; but, ashen-grey,\nFar off he heard glad anthems pealed.\n\nAt sunrise when the matins-bell\nMade a cold silvery music fall\nThrough silence of each lonely cell\nAnd over every fold and stall,\n\nSt. Colum called his monks to come\nAnd follow him to where his hands\nWould raise the Great Cross of the Dumb\nUpon the Holy Island's sands....\n\n\"For I shall call from out the Deep\nAnd from the grey fields of the skies,\nThe brethren we as outcasts keep,\nOur kindred of the dumb wild eyes....\n\n\"Behold, on this Christ's natal morn,\nGod wills the widening of His laws,\nAnother miracle to be born--\n_For lo, our guest an Angel was_!...\n\n\"His Dream the Lord Christ gave to him\nTo bring to us as Christ-Day food,\nThat Dream shall rise a holy hymn\nAnd hang like a flower upon the Rood!...\"\n\nThereat, while all with wonder stared\nSt. Colum raised the Holy Tree:\nThen all with Christ-Day singing fared\nTo where the last sands lipped the sea.\n\nSt. Colum raised his arms on high ...\n\"O ye, all creatures of the wing,\nCome here from out the fields o' the sky,\nCome, here and learn a wondrous thing!\"\n\nAt that the wild clans of the air\nCame sweeping in a mist of wings--\nOspreys and fierce solanders there,\nSea-swallows wheeling mazy rings,\n\nThe foam-white mew, the green-black scart,\nThe famishing hawk, the wailing tern,\nAll birds from the sand-building mart\nTo lonely bittern and heron....\n\nSt. Colum raised beseeching hands\nAnd blessed the pastures of the sea:\n\"Come, all ye creatures, to the sands,\nCome and behold the Sacred Tree!\"\n\nAt that the cold clans of the wave\nWith spray and surge and splash appeared:\nUp from each wrack-strewn, lightless cave\nDim day-struck eyes affrighted peered.\n\nThe pollacks came with rushing haste,\nThe great sea-cod, the speckled bass;\nAlong the foaming tideway raced\nThe herring-tribes like shimmering glass:\n\nThe mackerel and the dog-fish ran,\nThe whiting, haddock, in their wake:\nThe great sea-flounders upward span,\nThe fierce-eyed conger and the hake:\n\nThe greatest and the least of these\nFrom hidden pools and tidal ways\nSurged in their myriads from the seas\nAnd stared at St. Columba's face.\n\n\"Hearken,\" he cried, with solemn voice--\n\"Hearken! ye people of the Deep,\nYe people of the skies, Rejoice!\nNo more your soulless terror keep!\n\n\"For lo, an Angel from the Lord\nHath shown us that wherein we sin--\nBut now we humbly do His Word\nAnd call you, Brothers, kith and kin....\n\n\"No more we claim the world as ours\nAnd everything that therein is--\nTo-day, Christ's Day, the infinite powers\nDecree a common share of bliss.\n\n\"I know not if the new-waked soul\nThat stirs in every heart I see\nHas yet to reach the far-off goal\nWhose symbol is this Cross-shaped Tree....\n\n\"But, O dumb kindred of the skies,\nO kinsfolk of the pathless seas,\nAll scorn and hate I exorcise,\nAnd wish you nought but Love and Peace!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus, on that Christmas-day of old\nSt. Colum broke the ancient spell.\nA thousand years away have rolled,\n'Tis now ... \"a baseless miracle.\"\n\nO fellow-kinsmen of the Deep,\nO kindred of the wind and cloud,\nGod's children too ... how He must weep\nWho on that day was glad and proud!\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS SONG OF CAEDMON\n\nH.E.G. PARDEE\n\n\nAbout the year 650, among the servants in the ancient Abbey of\nStreonschall, there was a cowherd whose name was Caedmon. The habits of\nthe people of that age were simple and rude; their houses were comfortless\nhuts, their dress was made from the skins of their flocks, or from animals\ntaken in the chase; they had no books, and their literature was limited to\nthe Latin manuscripts of the Church, which few of the monks even were\nlearned enough to read, and fewer still to translate. Amid such\ninfluences, the life of a cowherd could scarcely be lifted above that of\nthe beasts he cared for; if his hunger and thirst were satisfied, he would\nask no more than a pleasant, daisied meadow in summer, and a warm nook in\nthe winter. But Caedmon had a sensitive nature, that craved something\nnobler. When the minstrels struck their harps, and sung the wild\ntraditions and fierce conflicts of their tribes and the guests followed\nwith boisterous jest in their uncouth ballads, Caedmon sat silent and\ngloomy.\n\nOne evening, as the harp, passing from one to another, drew nearer him,\ndreading the oft-repeated taunts of his fellows, he crept away in the\nshadows, and went to his only bed,--a truss of straw.\n\nAfter a while he slept, and in his sleep some one of lofty stature, and\nwith kindly-beaming eyes, stood beside him, and commanded him to sing. \"I\ncannot,\" replied Caedmon, despondingly.\n\n\"Sing!\" was the uncompromising answer.\n\n\"What shall I sing?\"\n\n\"The origin of all things.\"\n\nImmediately before his quickened sense swept a vision of Creation, and to\nhis glad surprise he described it all in song. The next morning he\nremembered, and repeated it; and the monks, hearing of it, took him into\nthe monastery, and taught him scenes and sentences from the Bible, which\nhe rendered into verse, and so became the first of the long line of sacred\npoets.\n\nIt was Christmas Eve, and the great hall of the Abbey was decked with the\nDruids' sacred mistletoe with its pearly fruitage, the bright green of the\nivy, and branches of holly, with scarlet, shining berries. Great logs were\nheaped on the broad stones in the middle of the hall, and jets of flame\nleaped up to brighten the low, smoke-stained ceiling, and restless shadows\nflitted along the wall, while the smoke escaped through the opening in the\nroof, for chimneys were then, and for many centuries after, unknown. The\nunglazed windows were closed at nightfall by wooden shutters, and rude\ncomfort cheered the inmates. A robin, who had fluttered in at dusk, and\nfound Christmas cheer on the holly boughs and warmth for his numbed little\nfeet, trilled a song of gratitude that winter had made such speed to be\ngone.\n\nTwo nights before, a company of pilgrims from the convents of Palestine,\nhad come to the monastery. They had been many months on their way, eagerly\nwelcomed wherever they stopped, for journeying was both difficult and\ndangerous, and travellers from such a remote region were rarely met. Their\ndark complexions,  hair and beards; their bright, mobile expression; their\nmanners toned by the graces of Eastern civilization, were a strange\ncontrast to the shaggy, elfish, ruddy-faced throng about them. This\nChristmas Eve they were telling the monks wonderful stories of the Holy\nLand; its beautiful, vine-clad hills; its tropical, luscious fruits; its\ntowering, plumy palms and hoary cedars; the long lines of caravans that\nwound over the silent, pathless deserts to bring to its cities the riches\nof Oriental commerce; the palaces and heathen temples of those cities, and\nthe traditional glory of _the_ Temple, with its magnificence of gold, and\nprecious stones, and woods and ivory. On the table were huge platters of\nsmoking meats, and serving men brought in flagons and tankards of ale, and\nfeasting, stories and minstrelsy held the hours till the midnight bell\ncalled to the first mass and ushered in Christmas Day. Caedmon, coming\nback from the frosty chapel, saw the stars shining in the brilliance of\nwinter skies. His heart was suffused with all he had heard the pilgrims\nrepeat; for the first time it entered his mind that the same stars that he\nsaw twinkling, held their course at that glad time when \"the morning-stars\nsang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy,\"--a prelude to\nthis other song of \"the great multitude of the heavenly host.\" He entered\nthe hall, and when the company reassembled, he took his harp, and sang\nwith power and pathos of the slumbering flocks on Judea's upland pastures;\nthe faithful, watching shepherds; the loneliness and silence of the night;\nthe sudden, startling brightness that shone about them, and enveloped\ntheir angel visitant, who kindly soothed their alarm with \"Fear not;\" and\nthe outburst of angelic song, unheard by the ears dulled with sleep, but\noverpowering these astonished men. \"O happy shepherds! who alone among\nmen, were ever privileged to hear the songs of heaven.\"\n\nHis audience was thrilled. Never had the monks heard Caedmon, or any other\nminstrel, sing with such fire; the intervening centuries fled before his\nsong. They, too, went to the lowly manger, and saw the Divine Infant\nhushed on the happy breast of his young Mother and felt Mary's awe when\nthe shepherds told her what they that night had seen and heard. While\nCaedmon sang they saw the caravan winding over an unmarked way and the\nwise men of the Orient following ever the strange star, till, after weeks\nof travel, it stood over the place where the young Child lay. They saw,\ntoo, the aged, bearded Melchior, Gaspar, young and fresh, and Balthazar\nthe Moor, descend from their kneeling camels with their kingly offerings\nof gold, frankincense and myrrh and prostrate themselves in reverence\nbefore the Holy Babe.\n\n\"'Twas ages, ages long ago,\" and Caedmon and his hymns are nigh forgotten,\nbut with each returning Christmas-tide may be heard again, as Caedmon\nheard of yore, the angels' song of joy: \"Glory to God in the highest, and\non earth peace, good will toward men.\"\n\n\n\nGOOD KING WENCESLAS\n\nJOHN MASON NEALE\n\n\nGood King Wenceslas looked out\n  On the Feast of Stephen,\nWhen the snow lay round about,\n  Deep, and crisp, and even.\n\nBrightly shone the moon that night\n  Though the frost was cruel,\nWhen a poor man came in sight,\n  Gath'ring winter fuel.\n\n\"Hither, page, and stand by me,\n  If thou know'st it, telling,\nYonder peasant, who is he?\n  Where and what his dwelling?\"\n\n\"Sire, he lives a good league hence,\n  Underneath the mountain;\nRight against the forest fence,\n  By Saint Agnes' fountain.\"\n\n\"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,\n  Bring me pine-logs hither;\nThou and I will see him dine,\n  When we bear them thither.\"\n\nPage and monarch, forth they went,\n  Forth they went together;\nThrough the rude wind's wild lament\n  And the bitter weather.\n\n\"Sire, the night is darker now,\n  And the wind blows stronger;\nFails my heart, I know not how,\n  I can go no longer.\"\n\n\"Mark my footsteps, good my page;\n  Tread thou in them boldly:\nThou shalt find the winter rage\n  Freeze thy blood less coldly.\"\n\nIn his master's steps he trod,\n  Where the snow lay dinted;\nHeat was in the very sod\n  Which the saint had printed.\n\nTherefore, Christian men, be sure,\n  Wealth or rank possessing,\nYe who now will bless the poor,\n  Shall yourselves find blessing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS AT GRECCIO: A\nSTORY OF ST. FRANCIS\n\nSOPHIE JEWETT\n\n\n\"The beautiful Mother is bending\n  Low where her Baby lies\nHelpless and frail, for her tending;\n  But she knows the glorious eyes.\n\n\"The Mother smiles and rejoices\n  While the Baby laughs in the hay;\nShe listens to heavenly voices:\n  'The child shall be King, one day.'\n\n\"O dear little Christ in the manger,\n  Let me make merry with Thee.\nO King, in my hour of danger,\n  Wilt Thou be strong for me?\"\n\n--Adapted from the Latin of Jacopone da Todi.\nThirteenth Century.\n\nOne night in December ... Brother Francis, with one companion, was walking\nthrough the beautiful valley of the Velino River, toward Rieti, a little\ncity where he came often on his way from Assisi to Rome. To-night he had\nturned somewhat aside from the main road, for he wished to spend Christmas\nwith his friend, Sir John of Greccio. Greccio is a tiny village, lying\nwhere the foothills begin, on the western side of the valley. The very\nfeet of Brother Francis knew the road so well that he could have walked\nsafely in the darkness, but it was not dark. The full moon floated over\nthe valley, making the narrow river and the sharp outlines of the\nsnow-covered mountains shine like silver. The plain and the lower hills\nwere pasture land, and, not far from the road, on a grassy slope, the\nBrothers saw the red glow of an almost spent shepherds' fire. \"Let us\nstop and visit our brothers, the shepherds,\" said Francis, and they\nturned toward the fading fire.\n\nThere was no sense of winter in the air, scarcely a touch of frost, and\nthe only snow was that on the silver peaks against the sky. The shepherds,\nthree men and one boy, lay sleeping soundly on the bare ground, with their\nsheepskin coats drawn closely around them. All about them the sheep were\nsleeping, too, but the solemn white sheep dogs were wide awake. If a\nstranger's foot had trod the grass never so softly, every dog would have\nbarked, and every shepherd would have been on his feet in an instant. But\nthe dogs trotted silently up to the Grey Brothers and rubbed against them,\nas if they said, \"We are glad to see you again,\" for they knew the\nfriendly feet of the Little Poor Man, and they had more than once helped\nhim to eat the bread that was his only dinner. Followed by the dogs,\nFrancis walked about among the shepherds, but they slept on, as only men\nwho live out of doors can sleep, and Francis could not find it in his\nheart to waken them. The sheep lay huddled together in groups for more\nwarmth. Around one small square of grass a net was stretched, and, inside\nit, were the mother sheep who had little lambs. There was no sound except\nthe faint cry, now and then, of a baby lamb. The coals over which the\nshepherds had cooked their supper paled from dull red to grey, and there\nwas only a thin column of smoke, white in the moonlight. Francis sat down\non a stone, and the largest of the white dogs pressed up against his knee.\nAnother went dutifully back to his post beside the fold where the mothers\nand babies slept. The Italian hillside seemed to Francis to change to that\nof Bethlehem, which he had seen, perhaps, on his Eastern journey; the\nclear December night seemed like that of the first Christmas Eve. \"How\nthese shepherds sleep!\" he thought; \"how they would awaken if they heard\nthe 'Peace on earth' of the angels' song!\" Then he remembered sadly how\nthe armies that called themselves Christian had, year after year, battled\nwith the Saracens over the cradle and the tomb of the Prince of Peace. The\nmoonlight grew misty about him, the silver heights of the mountains and\nthe silver line of the river faded, for the eyes of Brother Francis were\nfull of tears.\n\nAs the two Brothers went on their way, Francis grew light of heart again.\nThe sight of the shepherds sleeping on the grass had given him a new idea,\nand he was planning a surprise for his friends at Greccio. For at Greccio\nall were his friends, from Sir John, his host, down to the babies in the\nstreet. In the valley of Rieti he was almost as well known and as dearly\nloved as in his own valley of Assisi. The children of Greccio had never\nheard of Christmas trees, nor, perhaps, of Christmas presents. I am not\nsure that, in the thirteenth century, Italians had the beautiful custom\nwhich they now have of giving presents at Twelfth Night, in memory of the\ncoming of the three kings with their gifts to the Christ Child; but in the\nthirteenth century, even as now, Christmas was the happiest festival of\nthe year. This year all the folk of Greccio, big and little, were happier\nthan usual because their beloved Brother Francis was to help them keep\ntheir Christmas-tide. Next day Francis confided his plan to his friend,\nSir John, who promised that all should be ready on Christmas Eve.\n\nOn the day before Christmas, the people came from all the country around\nto see and hear Brother Francis. Men, women and children, dressed in their\nholiday clothes, walking, riding on donkeys, crowding into little carts\ndrawn by great white oxen, from everywhere and in every fashion, the\ncountry folk came toward Greccio. Many came from far away, and the early\nwinter darkness fell long before they could reach the town. The light of\ntheir torches might be seen on the open road, and the sound of their\nsinging reached the gates of Greccio before them. That night the little\ntown was almost as crowded as was Bethlehem on the eve of the first\nChristmas. The crowds were poor folk, for the most part, peasants from the\nfields, charcoal burners from the mountains, shepherds in their sheepskin\ncoats and trousers, made with the wool outside, so that the wearers looked\nlike strange, two-legged animals. The four shepherds who had slept so\nsoundly a few nights before were of the company, but they knew nothing of\ntheir midnight visitors. The white dogs knew, but they could keep a\nsecret. The shepherds were almost as quiet as their dogs. They always\ntalked and sang less than other people, having grown used to long silences\namong their sheep.\n\nGathered at last into the square before the church, by the light of\nflaring torches, for the moon would rise late, the people saw with wonder\nand delight the surprise which Brother Francis and Sir John had prepared\nfor them. They looked into a real stable. There was the manger full of\nhay, there were a live ox and a live ass. Even by torchlight their breath\nshowed in the frosty air. And there, on the hay, lay a real baby, wrapped\nfrom the cold, asleep and smiling. It looked as sweet and innocent as the\nChrist Child Himself. The people shouted with delight. They clapped their\nhands and waved their torches.\n\nThen there was silence, for Brother Francis stood before them, and the\nvoice they loved so well, and had come so far to hear, began to read the\nold story of the birth of the Child Jesus, of the shepherds in the fields,\nand of the angels' song. When the reading was ended, Brother Francis\ntalked to them as a father might speak to his children. He told of the\nlove that is gentle as a little child, that is willing to be poor and\nhumble as the Baby who was laid in a manger among the cattle. He begged\nhis listeners to put anger and hatred and envy out of their hearts this\nChristmas Eve, and to think only thoughts of peace and good will. All\nlistened eagerly while Brother Francis spoke, but the moment he finished\nthe great crowd broke into singing. From the church tower the bells rang\nloud; the torches waved wildly, while voices here and there shouted for\nBrother Francis and for the Blessed Little Christ. Never before had such\nglorious hymns nor such joyous shouting been heard in the town of Greccio.\nOnly the mothers, with babies in their arms, and the shepherds, in their\nwoolly coats, looked on silently and thought: \"We are in Bethlehem.\"\n\n\n\nTHE SIN OF THE PRINCE BISHOP\n\nWILLIAM CANTON\n\n\nThe Prince Bishop Evrard stood gazing at his marvellous Cathedral; and as\nhe let his eyes wander in delight over the three deep sculptured portals\nand the double gallery above them, and the great rose window, and the\nringers' gallery, and so up to the massive western towers, he felt as\nthough his heart were clapping hands for joy within him. And he thought to\nhimself, \"Surely in all the world God has no more beautiful house than\nthis which I have built with such long labor and at so princely an outlay\nof my treasure.\" And thus the Prince Bishop fell into the sin of\nvainglory, and, though he was a holy man, he did not perceive that he had\nfallen, so filled with gladness was he at the sight of his completed work.\n\nIn the double gallery of the west front there were many great statues with\ncrowns and sceptres, but a niche over the central portal was empty and\nthis the Prince Bishop intended to fill with a statue of himself. It was\nto be a very small simple statue, as became one who prized lowliness of\nheart, but as he looked up at the vacant place it gave him pleasure to\nthink that hundreds of years after he was dead people would pause before\nhis effigy and praise him and his work. And this, too, was vainglory.\n\nAs the Prince Bishop lay asleep that night a mighty six-winged Angel stood\nbeside him and bade him rise. \"Come,\" he said, \"and I will show thee some\nof those who have worked with thee in building the great church, and whose\nservice in God's eyes has been more worthy than thine.\" And the Angel led\nhim past the Cathedral and down the steep street of the ancient city, and\nthough it was midday, the people going to and fro did not seem to see\nthem. Beyond the gates they followed the shelving road till they came to\ngreen level fields, and there in the middle of the road, between grassy\nbanks covered white with cherry blossom, two great white oxen, yoked to a\nhuge block of stone, stood resting before they began the toilsome ascent.\n\n\"Look!\" said the Angel; and the Prince Bishop saw a little blue-winged\nbird which perched on the stout yoke beam fastened to the horns of the\noxen, and sang such a heavenly song of rest and contentment that the big\nshaggy creatures ceased to blow stormily through their nostrils, and drew\nlong tranquil breaths instead.\n\n\"Look again!\" said the Angel. And from a hut of wattles and clay a little\npeasant girl came with a bundle of hay in her arms, and gave first one of\nthe oxen and then the other a wisp. Then she stroked their black muzzles,\nand laid her rosy face against their white cheeks. Then the Prince Bishop\nsaw the rude teamster rise from his rest on the bank and cry to his\ncattle, and the oxen strained against the beam and the thick ropes\ntightened, and the huge block of stone was once more set in motion.\n\nAnd when the Prince Bishop saw that it was these fellow-workers whose\nservice was more worthy in God's eyes than his own, he was abashed and\nsorrowful for his sin, and the tears of his own weeping awoke him. So he\nsent for the master of the sculptors and bade him fill the little niche\nover the middle portal, not with his own effigy but with an image of the\nchild; and he bade him make two colossal figures of the white oxen; and to\nthe great wonderment of the people these were set up high in the tower so\nthat men could see them against the blue sky. \"And as for me,\" he said,\n\"let my body be buried, with my face downward, outside the great church,\nin front of the middle entrance, that men may trample on my vainglory and\nthat I may serve them as a stepping-stone to the house of God; and the\nlittle child shall look on me when I lie in the dust.\"\n\nNow the little girl in the niche was carved with wisps of hay in her\nhands, but the child who had fed the oxen knew nothing of this, and as she\ngrew up she forgot her childish service, so that when she had grown to\nwomanhood and chanced to see this statue over the portal she did not know\nit was her own self in stone. But what she had done was not forgotten in\nheaven.\n\nAnd as for the oxen, one of them looked east and one looked west across\nthe wide fruitful country about the foot of the hill-city. And one caught\nthe first grey gleam, and the first rosy flush, and the first golden\nsplendor of the sunrise; and the other was lit with the color of the\nsunset long after the lowlands had faded away in the blue mist of the\ntwilight. Weary men and worn women looking up at them felt that a gladness\nand a glory and a deep peace had fallen on the life of toil. And then,\nwhen people began to understand, they said it was well that these mighty\nlaborers, who had helped to build the house, should still find a place of\nservice and honor in the house; and they remembered that the Master of the\nhouse had once been a Babe warmed in a manger by the breath of kine. And\nat the thought of this men grew more pitiful to their cattle, and to the\nbeasts in servitude, and to all dumb animals. And that was one good fruit\nwhich sprang from the Prince Bishop's repentance.\n\nNow over the colossal stone oxen hung the bells of the Cathedral. On\nChristmas Eve the ringers, according to the old custom, ascended to their\ngallery to ring in the birth of the Babe Divine. At the moment of midnight\nthe master ringer gave the word, and the great bells began to swing in\njoyful sequence. Down below in the crowded church lay the image of the\nnew-born Child on the cold straw, and at His haloed head stood the images\nof the ox and the ass. Far out across the snow-roofed city, far away over\nthe white glistening country rang the glad music of the tower. People who\nwent to their doors to listen cried in astonishment: \"Hark! what strange\nmusic is that? It sounds as if the lowing of cattle were mingled with the\nchimes of the bells.\" In truth it was so. And in every byre the oxen and\nthe kine answered the strange sweet cadences with their lowing, and the\ngreat stone oxen lowed back to their kin of the meadow through the deep\nnotes of the joy-peal.\n\nIn the fulness of time the Prince Bishop Evrard died and was buried as he\nhad willed, with his face humbly turned to the earth; and to this day the\nweather-wasted figure of the little girl looks down on him from her niche,\nand the slab over his grave serves as a stepping-stone to pious feet.\n\nTaken by permission of E.P. Dutton and Company from \"A Child's Book of\nSaints,\" by William Canton, Everyman's Library.\n\n\n\nEARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE\n\nHJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN\n\n\nEarl Sigurd, he rides o'er the foam-crested brine,\n  And he heeds not the billowy brawl,\nFor he yearns to behold gentle Swanwhite, the maid\n  Who abides in Sir Burislav's hall.\n\n\"Earl Sigurd, the viking, he comes, he is near!\n  Earl Sigurd, the scourge of the sea;\nAmong the wild rovers who dwell on the deep,\n  There is none that is dreaded as he.\n\n\"Oh, hie ye, ye maidens, and hide where ye can,\n  Ere the clang of his war-ax ye hear,\nFor the wolf of the woods has more pity than he,\n  And his heart is as grim as his spear.\"\n\nThus rang the dread tidings, from castle to hut,\n  Through the length of Sir Burislav's land,\nAs they spied the red pennon unfurled to the breeze,\n  And the galleys that steered for the strand.\n\nBut with menacing brow, looming high in his prow\n  Stood Earl Sigurd, and fair to behold\nWas his bright, yellow hair, as it waved in the air,\n  'Neath the glittering helmet of gold.\n\n\"Up, my comrades, and stand with your broadswords in hand,\n  For the war is great Odin's delight;\nAnd the Thunderer proud, how he laughs in his cloud\n  When the Norsemen prepare for the fight!\"\n\nAnd the light galleys bore the fierce crew to the shore,\n  And naught good did their coming forebode,\nAnd a wail rose on high to the storm-riven sky\n  As to Burislav's castle they strode.\n\nThen the stout-hearted men of Sir Burislav's train\n  To the gate-way came thronging full fast\nAnd the battle-blade rang with a murderous clang,\n  Borne aloft on the wings of the blast.\n\nAnd they hewed and they thrust, till each man bit the dust,\n  Their fierce valor availing them naught.\nBut the Thunderer proud, how he laughed in his cloud,\n  When he saw how the Norsemen had fought!\n\nThen came Burislav forth; to the men of the North\n  Thus in quivering accents spake he:\n\"O, ye warriors, name me the ransom ye claim,\n  Or in gold, or in robes, or in fee.\"\n\n\"Oh, what reck I thy gold?\" quoth Earl Sigurd, the bold;\n  \"Has not Thor laid it all in my hand?\nGive me Swanwhite, the fair, and by Balder I swear\n  I shall never revisit thy land.\n\n\"For my vengeance speeds fast, and I come like the blast\n  Of the night o'er the billowy brine;\nI forget not thy scorn and thy laugh on that morn\n  When I wooed me the maid that was mine.\"\n\nThen the chief, sore afraid, brought the lily-white maid\n  To the edge of the blood-sprinkled field,\nAnd they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft\n  On the vault of the glittering shield.\n\nBut amain in their path, in a whirlwind of wrath\n  Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son;\nWith a great voice he cried, while the echoes replied:\n  \"Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon!\"\n\nHark ye, Norsemen, hear great tidings:\n  Odin, Thor, and Frey are dead,\nAnd white Christ, the strong and gentle,\n  standeth peace-crowned in their stead.\n\nLo, the blood-stained day of vengeance to the\n  ancient night is hurled,\nAnd the dawn of Christ is beaming blessings\n  o'er the new-born world.\n\n\"See the Cross in splendor gleaming far and\n  wide o'er pine-clad heath,\nWhile the flaming blade of battle slumbers in\n  its golden sheath.\nAnd before the lowly Savior, e'en the rider of\n  the sea,\nSigurd, tamer of the billow, he hath bent the\n  stubborn knee.\"\n\nNow at Yule-tide sat he feasting on the shore\n  of Drontheim fiord,\nAnd his stalwart swains about him watched\n  the bidding of their lord.\nHuge his strength was, but his visage, it was\n  mild and fair to see;\nNe'er old Norway, heroes' mother, bore a\n  mightier son than he.\n\nWith her maids sat gentle Swanwhite 'neath a\n  roof of gleaming shields,\nAs the rarer lily blossoms 'mid the green herbs\n  of the fields;\n\nTo and fro their merry words flew lightly\n  through the torch-lit room,\nLike a shuttle deftly skipping through the\n  mazes of the loom.\n\nAnd the scalds with nimble fingers o'er the\n  sounding harp-strings swept;\nNow the strain in laughter rippled, now with\n  hidden woe it wept,\nFor they sang of Time's beginning, ere the sun\n  the day brought forth--\nSang as sing the ocean breezes through the\n  pine-woods of the North.\n\nBolder beat the breasts of Norsemen--when\n  amid the tuneful din\nOpen sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a\n  stranger entered in.\nTall his growth, though low he bended o'er a\n  twisted staff of oak,\nAnd his stalwart shape was folded in a dun,\n  unseemly cloak.\n\nStraight the Earl his voice uplifted: \"Hail\n  to thee, my guest austere!\nDrain with me this cup of welcome: thou shalt\n  share our Yule-tide cheer.\nThou shalt sit next to my high-seat e'en\nthough lowly be thy birth,\nFor to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a\nstranger to his earth.\"\n\nUp then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her\n  eyes with fear grew bright;\nDown the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow\n  drifts by night.\n\"If my lord would hold me worthy,\" low she\n  spake, \"then grant me leave\nTo abide between the stranger and my lord,\n  this Christmas eve.\"\n\n\"Strange, O guest, is women's counsel, still\n  their folly is the staff\nUpon which our wisdom leaneth,\" and he\n  laughed a burly laugh;\nLifted up her lissome body with a husband's\n  tender pride,\nKissed her brow, and placed her gently in the\n  high-seat at his side.\n\nBut the guest stood pale and quivered, where\n  the red flames roofward rose,\nAnd he clenched the brimming goblet in his\n  fingers, fierce and close,\n\nThen he spake: \"All hail, Earl Sigurd,\n  mightiest of the Norsemen, hail!\nEre I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy\n  flesh and ale.\"\n\nQuoth the merry Earl with fervor: \"Courteous\n  is thy speech and free:\nWhile thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will\n  sing a song to thee;\nFor beneath that dusky garment thou mayst\n  hide a hero's heart,\nAnd my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet\n  unlearned the singer's art.\"\n\nThen the arms so tightly folded round his neck\n  the Earl unclasped,\nAnd his heart was stirred within him as the\n  silvern strings he grasped,\nBut with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his\n  side she clung,\nWhile his mighty soul rose upward on the\n  billows of the song.\n\nFor he sang, in tones impassioned, of the death\n  of Aesir bright,\nSang the song of Christ the glorious, who was\n  born a babe to-night,\n\nHow the hosts of heaven victorious joined the\n  anthem of his birth,\nOf the kings the starlight guided from the far\n  lands of the earth.\n\nAnd anon, with bodeful glamour fraught, the\n  hurrying strain sped on,\nAs he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath\n  forever gone,\nSang of gods with murder sated, who had laid\n  the fair earth waste,\nWho had whetted swords of Norsemen,\n  plunged them into Norsemen's breast.\n\nBut he shook a shower of music, rippling from\n  the silver strings,\nAnd bright visions rose of angels and of fair\n  and shining things\nAs he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the mild\n  and bloodless reign\nOf the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and\n  good-will unto men!\n\nBut the guest sat dumb and hearkened, staring\n  at the brimming bowl,\nWhile the lay with mighty wing-beats swept\n  the darkness of his soul.\n\nFor the Christ who worketh wonders as of old,\n  so e'en to-day\nSent his angel downward gliding on the ladder\n  of the lay.\n\nAs the host his song had ended with a last\n  resounding twang,\nAnd within the harp's dumb chambers\n  murmurous echoes faintly rang,\nUp then sprang the guest, and straightway\n  downward rolled his garment dun--\nThere stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's\n  undaunted son.\n\nHigh he loomed above the feasters in the\n  torchlight dim and weird,\nFrom his eyes hot tears were streaming,\n  sparkling in his tawny beard;\nShining in his sea-blue mantle stood he, 'mid\n  that wondering throng,\nAnd each maiden thought him fairest, and each\n  warrior vowed him strong.\n\nSwift he bared his blade of battle, flung it\n  quivering on the board:\n\"Lo!\" he cried, \"I came to bid thee baleful\n  greeting with my sword;\nThou hast dulled the edge that never shrank\n  from battle's fiercest test--\nNow I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto\n brother's breast.\n\n\"With three hundred men I landed in the\n  gloaming at thy shore--\nDost thou hear their axes clanking on their\n  shields without thy door?\nBut a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's\n  voice to hear,\nTo behold her face and whisper words of\n  warning in her ear.\n\n\"But I knew not of the new-born king, who\n  holds the earth in sway,\nAnd whose voice like fragrance blended in the\n  soarings of thy lay.\nThis my vengeance now, O brother: foes as\n  friends shall hands unite;\nTeach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the\n  law of Christ the white.\"\n\nTouched as by an angel's glory, strangely\n  shone Earl Sigurd's face,\nAs he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly\n  embrace;\n\nAnd each warrior upward leaping, swung his\n  horn with gold bedight:\n\"Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times\n  hail to Christ the white!\"\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS LEGEND\n\nFLORENCE SCANNELL\n\n\nIt was Christmas Eve. The night was very dark and the snow falling fast,\nas Hermann, the charcoal-burner, drew his cloak tighter around him, and\nthe wind whistled fiercely through the trees of the Black Forest. He had\nbeen to carry a load to a castle near, and was now hastening home to his\nlittle hut. Although he worked very hard, he was poor, gaining barely\nenough for the wants of his wife and his four little children. He was\nthinking of them, when he heard a faint wailing. Guided by the sound, he\ngroped about and found a little child, scantily clothed, shivering and\nsobbing by itself in the snow.\n\n\"Why, little one, have they left thee here all alone to face this cruel\nblast?\"\n\nThe child answered nothing, but looked piteously up in the\ncharcoal-burner's face.\n\n\"Well, I cannot leave thee here. Thou would'st be dead before the\nmorning.\"\n\nSo saying, Hermann raised it in his arms, wrapping it in his cloak and\nwarming its little cold hands in his bosom. When he arrived at his hut, he\nput down the child and tapped at the door, which was immediately thrown\nopen, and the children rushed to meet him.\n\n\"Here, wife, is a guest to our Christmas Eve supper,\" said he, leading in\nthe little one, who held timidly to his finger with its tiny hand.\n\n\"And welcome he is,\" said the wife. \"Now let him come and warm himself by\nthe fire.\"\n\nThe children all pressed round to welcome and gaze at the little\nnew-comer. They showed him their pretty fir-tree, decorated with bright,\ncolored lamps in honor of Christmas Eve, which the good mother had\nendeavored to make a _f\u00eate_ for the children.\n\nThen they sat down to supper, each child contributing of its portion for\nthe guest, looking with admiration at its clear, blue eyes and golden\nhair, which shone so as to shed a brighter light in the little room; and\nas they gazed, it grew into a sort of halo round his head, and his eyes\nbeamed with a heavenly luster. Soon two white wings appeared at his\nshoulders, and he seemed to grow larger and larger, and then the beautiful\nvision vanished, spreading out his hands as in benediction over them.\n\nHermann and his wife fell on their knees, exclaiming, in awe-struck\nvoices: \"The holy Christ-child!\" and then embraced their wondering\nchildren in joy and thankfulness that they had entertained the Heavenly\nGuest.\n\nThe next morning, as Hermann passed by the place where he had found the\nfair child, he saw a cluster of lovely white flowers, with dark green\nleaves, looking as though the snow itself had blossomed. Hermann plucked\nsome, and carried them reverently home to his wife and children, who\ntreasured the fair blossoms and tended them carefully in remembrance of\nthat wonderful Christmas Eve, calling them Chrysanthemums; and every year,\nas the time came round, they put aside a portion of their feast and gave\nit to some poor little child, according to the words of the Christ:\n\"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,\nye have done it unto me.\"\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS ROSE\n\nSELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\n\nRobber Mother, who lived in Robbers' Cave up in G\u00f6inge forest, went down\nto the village one day on a begging tour. Robber Father, who was an\noutlawed man, did not dare to leave the forest, but had to content himself\nwith lying in wait for the wayfarers who ventured within its borders. But\nat that time travellers were not very plentiful in Southern Sk\u00e5ne. If it\nso happened that the man had had a few weeks of ill luck with his hunt,\nhis wife would take to the road. She took with her five youngsters, and\neach youngster wore a ragged leathern suit and birch-bark shoes and bore a\nsack on his back as long as himself. When Robber Mother stepped inside the\ndoor of a cabin, no one dared refuse to give her whatever she demanded;\nfor she was not above coming back the following night and setting fire to\nthe house if she had not been well received. Robber Mother and her brood\nwere worse than a pack of wolves, and many a man felt like running a spear\nthrough them; but it was never done, because they all knew that the man\nstayed up in the forest, and he would have known how to wreak vengeance if\nanything had happened to the children or the old woman.\n\nNow that Robber Mother went from house to house and begged, she came one\nday to \u00d6vid, which at that time was a cloister. She rang the bell of the\ncloister gate and asked for food. The watchman let down a small wicket in\nthe gate and handed her six round bread cakes--one for herself and one for\neach of the five children.\n\nWhile the mother was standing quietly at the gate, her youngsters were\nrunning about. And now one of them came and pulled at her skirt, as a\nsignal that he had discovered something which she ought to come and see,\nand Robber Mother followed him promptly.\n\nThe entire cloister was surrounded by a high and strong wall, but the\nyoungster had managed to find a little back gate which stood ajar. When\nRobber Mother got there, she pushed the gate open and walked inside\nwithout asking leave, as it was her custom to do.\n\n\u00d6vid Cloister was managed at that time by Abbot Hans, who knew all about\nherbs. Just within the cloister wall he had planted a little herb garden,\nand it was into this that the old woman had forced her way.\n\nAt first glance Robber Mother was so astonished that she paused at the\ngate. It was high summertide, and Abbot Hans' garden was so full of\nflowers that the eyes were fairly dazzled by the blues, reds, and yellows,\nas one looked into it. But presently an indulgent smile spread over her\nfeatures, and she started to walk up a narrow path that lay between many\nflower-beds.\n\nIn the garden a lay brother walked about, pulling up weeds. It was he who\nhad left the door in the wall open, that he might throw the weeds and\ntares on the rubbish heap outside.\n\nWhen he saw Robber Mother coming in, with all five youngsters in tow, he\nran toward her at once and ordered them away. But the beggar woman walked\nright on as before. She cast her eyes up and down, looking now at the\nstiff white lilies which spread near the ground, then on the ivy climbing\nhigh upon the cloister wall, and took no notice whatever of the lay\nbrother.\n\nHe thought she had not understood him, and wanted to take her by the arm\nand turn her toward the gate. But when the robber woman saw his purpose,\nshe gave him a look that sent him reeling backward. She had been walking\nwith back bent under her beggar's pack, but now she straightened herself\nto her full height. \"I am Robber Mother from G\u00f6inge forest; so touch me if\nyou dare!\" And it was obvious that she was as certain she would be left in\npeace as if she had announced that she was the Queen of Denmark.\n\nAnd yet the lay brother dared to oppose her, although now, when he knew\nwho she was, he spoke reasonably to her. \"You must know, Robber Mother,\nthat this is a monks' cloister, and no woman in the land is allowed within\nthese walls. If you do not go away, the monks will be angry with me\nbecause I forgot to close the gate, and perhaps they will drive me away\nfrom the cloister and the herb garden.\"\n\nBut such prayers were wasted on Robber Mother. She walked straight ahead\namong the little flower-beds and looked at the hyssop with its magenta\nblossoms, and at the honeysuckles, which were full of deep orange-colored\nflower clusters.\n\nThen the lay brother knew of no other remedy than to run into the cloister\nand call for help.\n\nHe returned with two stalwart monks, and Robber Mother saw that now it\nmeant business! With feet firmly planted she stood in the path and began\nshrieking in strident tones all the awful vengeance she would wreak on the\ncloister if she couldn't remain in the herb garden as long as she wished.\nBut the monks did not see why they need fear her and thought only of\ndriving her out. Then Robber Mother let out a perfect volley of shrieks,\nand, throwing herself upon the monks, clawed and bit at them; so did all\nthe youngsters. The men soon learned that she could overpower them, and\nall they could do was to go back into the cloister for reinforcements.\n\nAs they ran through the passage-way which led to the cloister, they met\nAbbot Hans, who came rushing out to learn what all this noise was about.\n\nThen they had to confess that Robber Mother from G\u00f6inge forest had come\ninto the cloister and that they were unable to drive her out and must call\nfor assistance.\n\nBut Abbot Hans upbraided them for using force and forbade their calling\nfor help. He sent both monks back to their work, and although he was an\nold and fragile man, he took with him only the lay brother.\n\nWhen Abbot Hans came out in the garden, Robber Mother was still wandering\namong the flower-beds. He regarded her with astonishment. He was certain\nthat Robber Mother had never before seen an herb garden; yet she sauntered\nleisurely between all the small patches, each of which had been planted\nwith its own species of rare flower, and looked at them as if they were\nold acquaintances. At some she smiled, at others she shook her head.\n\nAbbot Hans loved his herb garden as much as it was possible for him to\nlove anything earthly and perishable. Wild and terrible as the old woman\nlooked, he couldn't help liking that she had fought with three monks for\nthe privilege of viewing the garden in peace. He came up to her and asked\nin a mild tone if the garden pleased her.\n\nRobber Mother turned defiantly toward Abbot Hans, for she expected only to\nbe trapped and overpowered. But when she noticed his white hair and bent\nform, she answered peaceably, \"First, when I saw this, I thought I had\nnever seen a prettier garden; but now I see that it can't be compared with\none I know of.\"\n\nAbbot Hans had certainly expected a different answer. When he heard that\nRobber Mother had seen a garden more beautiful than his, a faint flush\nspread over his withered cheek. The lay brother, who was standing close\nby, immediately began to censure the old woman. \"This is Abbot Hans,\" said\nhe, \"who with much care and diligence has gathered the flowers from far\nand near for his herb garden. We all know that there is not a more\nbeautiful garden to be found in all Sk\u00e5ne, and it is not befitting that\nyou, who live in the wild forest all the year around, should find fault\nwith his work.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to make myself the judge of either him or you,\" said Robber\nMother. \"I'm only saying that if you could see the garden of which I am\nthinking you would uproot all the flowers planted here and cast them away\nlike weeds.\"\n\nBut the Abbot's assistant was hardly less proud of the flowers than the\nAbbot himself, and after hearing her remarks he laughed derisively. \"I can\nunderstand that you only talk like this to tease us. It must be a pretty\ngarden that you have made for yourself amongst the pines in G\u00f6inge forest!\nI'd be willing to wager my soul's salvation that you have never before\nbeen within the walls of an herb garden.\"\n\nRobber Mother grew crimson with rage to think that her word was doubted,\nand she cried out: \"It may be true that until to-day I had never been\nwithin the walls of an herb garden; but you monks, who are holy men,\ncertainly must know that on every Christmas Eve the great G\u00f6inge forest is\ntransformed into a beautiful garden, to commemorate the hour of our Lord's\nbirth. We who live in the forest have seen this happen every year. And in\nthat garden I have seen flowers so lovely that I dared not lift my hand to\npluck them.\"\n\nThe lay brother wanted to continue the argument, but Abbot Hans gave him a\nsign to be silent. For, ever since his childhood, Abbot Hans had heard it\nsaid that on every Christmas Eve the forest was dressed in holiday glory.\nHe had often longed to see it, but he had never had the good fortune.\nEagerly he begged and implored Robber Mother that he might come up to the\nRobbers' Cave on Christmas Eve. If she would only send one of her children\nto show him the way, he could ride up there alone, and he would never\nbetray them--on the contrary, he would reward them, in so far  as it lay\nin his power.\n\nRobber Mother said no at first, for she was thinking of Robber Father and\nof the peril which might befall him should she permit Abbot Hans to ride\nup to their cave. At the same time the desire to prove to the monk that\nthe garden which she knew was more beautiful than his got the better of\nher, and she gave in.\n\n\"But more than one follower you cannot take with you,\" said she, \"and you\nare not to waylay us or trap us, as sure as you are a holy man.\"\n\nThis Abbot Hans promised, and then Robber Mother went her way. Abbot Hans\ncommanded the lay brother not to reveal to a soul that which had been\nagreed upon. He feared that the monks, should they learn of his purpose,\nwould not allow a man of his years to go up to the Robbers' Cave.\n\nNor did he himself intend to reveal his project to a human being. And then\nit happened that Archbishop Absalon from Lund came to \u00d6vid and remained\nthrough the night. When Abbot Hans was showing him the herb garden, he got\nto thinking of Robber Mother's visit, and the lay brother, who was at work\nin the garden, heard Abbot Hans telling the Bishop about Robber Father,\nwho these many years had lived as an outlaw in the forest, and asking him\nfor a letter of ransom for the man, that he might lead an honest life\namong respectable folk. \"As things are now,\" said Abbot Hans, \"his\nchildren are growing up into worse malefactors than himself, and you will\nsoon have a whole gang of robbers to deal with up there in the forest.\"\n\nBut the Archbishop replied that he did not care to let the robber loose\namong honest folk in the villages. It would be best for all that he remain\nin the forest.\n\nThen Abbot Hans grew zealous and told the Bishop all about G\u00f6inge forest,\nwhich, every year at Yuletide, clothed itself in summer bloom around the\nRobbers' Cave. \"If these bandits are not so bad but that God's glories can\nbe made manifest to them, surely we cannot be too wicked to experience the\nsame blessing.\"\n\nThe Archbishop knew how to answer Abbot Hans. \"This much I will promise\nyou, Abbot Hans,\" he said, smiling, \"that any day you send me a blossom\nfrom the garden in G\u00f6inge forest, I will give you letters of ransom for\nall the outlaws you may choose to plead for.\"\n\nThe lay brother apprehended that Bishop Absalon believed as little in this\nstory of Robber Mother's as he himself; but Abbot Hans perceived nothing\nof the sort, but thanked Absalon for his good promise and said that he\nwould surely send him the flower.\n\nAbbot Hans had his way. And the following Christmas Eve he did not sit at\nhome with his monks in \u00d6vid Cloister, but was on his way to G\u00f6inge forest.\nOne of Robber Mother's wild youngsters ran ahead of him, and close behind\nhim was the lay brother who had talked with Robber Mother in the herb\ngarden.\n\nAbbot Hans had been longing to make this journey, and he was very happy\nnow that it had come to pass. But it was a different matter with the lay\nbrother who accompanied him. Abbot Hans was very dear to him, and he would\nnot willingly have allowed another to attend him and watch over him; but\nhe didn't believe that he should see any Christmas Eve garden. He thought\nthe whole thing a snare which Robber Mother had, with great cunning, laid\nfor Abbot Hans, that he might fall into her husband's clutches.\n\nWhile Abbot Hans was riding toward the forest, he saw that everywhere they\nwere preparing to celebrate Christmas. In every peasant settlement fires\nwere lighted in the bathhouse to warm it for the afternoon bathing. Great\nhunks of meat and bread were being carried from the larders into the\ncabins, and from the barns came the men with big sheaves of straw to be\nstrewn over the floors.\n\nAs he rode by the little country churches, he observed that each parson,\nwith his sexton, was busily engaged in decorating his church; and when he\ncame to the road which leads to B\u00f6sjo Cloister, he observed that all the\npoor of the parish were coming with armfuls of bread and long candles,\nwhich they had received at the cloister gate.\n\nWhen Abbot Hans saw all these Christmas preparations, his haste increased.\nHe was thinking of the festivities that awaited him, which were greater\nthan any the others would be privileged to enjoy.\n\nBut the lay brother whined and fretted when he saw how they were preparing\nto celebrate Christmas in every humble cottage. He grew more and more\nanxious, and begged and implored Abbot Hans to turn back and not to throw\nhimself deliberately into the robber's hands.\n\nAbbot Hans went straight ahead, paying no heed to his lamentations. He\nleft the plain behind him and came up into desolate and wild forest\nregions. Here the road was bad, almost like a stony and burr-strewn path,\nwith neither bridge nor plank to help them over brooklet and rivulet. The\nfarther they rode, the colder it grew, and after a while they came upon\nsnow-covered ground.\n\nIt turned out to be a long and hazardous ride through the forest. They\nclimbed steep and slippery side paths, crawled over swamp and marsh, and\npushed through windfall and bramble. Just as daylight was waning, the\nrobber boy guided them across a forest meadow, skirted by tall, naked leaf\ntrees and green fir trees. Back of the meadow loomed a mountain wall, and\nin this wall they saw a door of thick boards. Now Abbot Hans understood\nthat they had arrived, and dismounted. The child opened the heavy door for\nhim, and he looked into a poor mountain grotto, with bare stone walls.\nRobber Mother was seated before a log fire that burned in the middle of\nthe floor. Alongside the walls were beds of virgin pine and moss, and on\none of these beds lay Robber Father asleep.\n\n\"Come in, you out there!\" shouted Robber Mother without rising, \"and fetch\nthe horses in with you, so they won't be destroyed by the night cold.\"\n\nAbbot Hans walked boldly into the cave, and the lay brother followed. Here\nwere wretchedness  and poverty! and nothing was done to celebrate\nChristmas. Robber Mother had neither brewed nor baked; she had neither\nwashed nor scoured. The youngsters were lying on the floor around a\nkettle, eating; but no better food was provided for them than a watery\ngruel.\n\nRobber Mother spoke in a tone as haughty and dictatorial as any well-to-do\npeasant woman. \"Sit down by the fire and warm yourself, Abbot Hans,\" said\nshe; \"and if you have food with you, eat, for the food which we in the\nforest prepare you wouldn't care to taste. And if you are tired after the\nlong journey, you can lie down on one of these beds to sleep. You needn't\nbe afraid of oversleeping, for I'm sitting here by the fire keeping watch.\nI shall awaken you in time to see that which you have come up here to\nsee.\"\n\nAbbot Hans obeyed Robber Mother and brought forth his food sack; but he\nwas so fatigued after the journey he was hardly able to eat, and as soon\nas he could stretch himself on the bed, he fell asleep.\n\nThe lay brother was also assigned a bed to rest upon, but he didn't dare\nsleep, as he thought he had better keep his eye on Robber Father to\nprevent his getting up and capturing Abbot Hans. But gradually fatigue got\nthe better of him, too, and he dropped into a doze.\n\nWhen he woke up, he saw that Abbot Hans had left his bed and was sitting\nby the fire talking with Robber Mother. The outlawed robber sat also by\nthe fire. He was a tall, raw-boned man with a dull, sluggish appearance.\nHis back was turned to Abbot Hans, as though he would have it appear that\nhe was not listening to the conversation.\n\nAbbot Hans was telling Robber Mother all about the Christmas preparations\nhe had seen on the journey, reminding her of Christmas feasts and games\nwhich she must have known in her youth, when she lived at peace with\nmankind. \"I'm sorry for your children, who can never run on the village\nstreet in holiday dress or tumble in the Christmas straw,\" said he.\n\nAt first Robber Mother answered in short, gruff sentences, but by degrees\nshe became more subdued and listened more intently. Suddenly Robber Father\nturned toward Abbot Hans and shook his clenched fist in his face. \"You\nmiserable monk! did you come here to coax from me my wife and children?\nDon't you know that I am an outlaw and may not leave the forest?\"\n\nAbbot Hans looked him fearlessly in the eyes. \"It is my purpose to get a\nletter of ransom for you from Archbishop Absalon,\" said he. He had hardly\nfinished speaking when the robber and his wife burst out laughing. They\nknew well enough the kind of mercy a forest robber could expect from\nBishop Absalon!\n\n\"Oh, if I get a letter of ransom from Absalon,\" said Robber Father, \"then\nI'll promise you that never again will I steal so much as a goose.\"\n\nThe lay brother was annoyed with the robber folk for daring to laugh at\nAbbot Hans, but on his own account he was well pleased. He had seldom seen\nthe Abbot sitting more peaceful and meek with his monks at \u00d6vid than he\nnow sat with this wild robber folk.\n\nSuddenly Robber Mother rose. \"You sit here and talk, Abbot Hans,\" she\nsaid, \"so that we are forgetting to look at the forest. Now I can hear,\neven in this cave, how the Christmas bells are ringing.\"\n\nThe words were barely uttered when they all sprang up and rushed out. But\nin the forest it was still dark night and bleak winter. The only thing\nthey marked was a distant clang borne on a light south wind.\n\n\"How can this bell ringing ever awaken the dead forest?\" thought Abbot\nHans. For now, as he stood out in the winter darkness, he thought it far\nmore impossible that a summer garden could spring up here than it had\nseemed to him before.\n\nWhen the bells had been ringing a few moments, a sudden illumination\npenetrated the forest; the next moment it was dark again, and then the\nlight came back. It pushed its way forward between the stark trees, like a\nshimmering mist. This much it effected: The darkness merged into a faint\ndaybreak. Then Abbot Hans saw that the snow had vanished from the ground,\nas if some one had removed a carpet, and the earth began to take on a\ngreen covering. Then the ferns shot up their fronds, rolled like a\nbishop's staff. The heather that grew on the stony hills and the\nbog-myrtle rooted in the ground moss dressed themselves quickly in new\nbloom. The moss-tufts  thickened and raised themselves, and the spring\nblossoms shot upward their swelling buds, which already had a touch of\ncolor.\n\nAbbot Hans' heart beat fast as he marked the first signs of the forest's\nawakening. \"Old man that I am, shall I behold such a miracle?\" thought he,\nand the tears wanted to spring to his eyes. Again it grew so hazy that he\nfeared the darkness would once more cover the earth; but almost\nimmediately there came a new wave of light. It brought with it the splash\nof rivulet and the rush of cataract. Then the leaves of the trees burst\ninto bloom, as if a swarm of green butterflies came flying and clustered\non the branches. It was not only trees and plants that awoke, but\ncrossbeaks hopped from branch to branch, and the woodpeckers hammered on\nthe limbs until the splinters fairly flew around them. A flock of\nstarlings from up country lighted in a fir top to rest. They were paradise\nstarlings. The tips of each tiny feather shone in brilliant reds, and, as\nthe birds moved, they glittered like so many jewels.\n\nAgain, all was dark for an instant, but soon there came a new light wave.\nA fresh, warm south wind blew and scattered over the forest meadow all the\nlittle seeds that had been brought here from southern lands by birds and\nships and winds, and which could not thrive elsewhere because of this\ncountry's cruel cold. These took root and sprang up the instant they\ntouched the ground.\n\nWhen the next warm wind came along, the blueberries and lignon ripened.\nCranes and wild geese shrieked in the air, the bullfinches built nests,\nand the baby squirrels began playing on the branches of the trees.\n\nEverything came so fast now that Abbot Hans could not stop to reflect on\nhow immeasurably great was the miracle that was taking place. He had time\nonly to use his eyes and ears. The next light wave that came rushing in\nbrought with it the scent of newly ploughed acres, and far off in the\ndistance the milkmaids were heard coaxing the cows--and the tinkle of the\nsheep's bells. Pine and spruce trees were so thickly clothed with red\ncones that they shone like crimson mantles. The juniper berries changed\ncolor every second, and forest flowers covered the ground till it was all\nred, blue, and yellow.\n\nAbbot Hans bent down to the earth and broke off a wild strawberry blossom,\nand, as he straightened up, the berry ripened in his hand.\n\nThe mother fox came out of her lair with a big litter of black-legged\nyoung. She went up to Robber Mother and scratched at her skirt, and Robber\nMother bent down to her and praised her young. The horned owl, who had\njust begun his night chase, was astonished at the light and went back to\nhis ravine to perch for the night. The male cuckoo crowed, and his mate\nstole up to the nests of the little birds with her egg in her mouth.\n\nRobber Mother's youngsters let out perfect shrieks of delight. They\nstuffed themselves with wild strawberries that hung on the bushes, large\nas pine cones. One of them played with a litter of young hares; another\nran a race with some young crows, which had hopped from their nest before\nthey were really ready; a third caught up an adder from the ground and\nwound it around his neck and arm.\n\nRobber Father was standing out on a marsh eating raspberries. When he\nglanced up, a big black bear stood beside him. Robber Father broke off an\nosier twig and struck the bear on the nose. \"Keep to your own ground,\nyou!\" he said; \"this is my turf.\" Then the huge bear turned around and\nlumbered off in another direction.\n\nNew waves of warmth and light kept coming, and now they brought with them\nseeds from the star-flower. Golden pollen from rye fields fairly flew in\nthe air. Then came butterflies, so big that they looked like flying\nlilies. The bee-hive in a hollow oak was already so full of honey that it\ndripped down on the trunk of the tree. Then all the flowers whose seeds\nhad been brought from foreign lands began to blossom. The loveliest roses\nclimbed up the mountain wall in a race with the blackberry vines, and from\nthe forest meadow sprang flowers as large as human faces.\n\nAbbot Hans thought of the flower he was to pluck for Bishop Absalon; but\neach new flower that appeared was more beautiful than the others, and he\nwanted to choose the most beautiful of all.\n\nWave upon wave kept coming until the air was so filled with light that it\nglittered. All the life and beauty and joy of summer smiled on Abbot Hans.\nHe felt that earth could bring no greater happiness than that which welled\nup about him, and he said to himself, \"I do not know what new beauties the\nnext wave that comes can bring with it.\"\n\nBut the light kept streaming in, and now it seemed to Abbot Hans that it\ncarried with it something from an infinite distance. He felt a celestial\natmosphere enfolding him, and tremblingly he began to anticipate, now that\nearth's joys had come, the glories of heaven were approaching.\n\nThen Abbot Hans marked how all grew still; the birds hushed their songs,\nthe flowers ceased growing, and the young foxes played no more. The glory\nnow nearing was such that the heart wanted to stop beating; the eyes wept\nwithout one's knowing it; the soul longed to soar away into the Eternal.\nFrom far in the distance faint harp tones were heard, and celestial song,\nlike a soft murmur, reached him.\n\nAbbot Hans clasped his hands and dropped to his knees. His face was\nradiant with bliss. Never had he dreamed that even in this life it should\nbe granted him to taste the joys of heaven, and to hear angels sing\nChristmas carols!\n\nBut beside Abbot Hans stood the lay brother who had accompanied him. In\nhis mind there were dark thoughts. \"This cannot be a true miracle,\" he\nthought, \"since it is revealed to malefactors. This does not come from\nGod, but has its origin in witchcraft and is sent hither by Satan. It is\nthe Evil One's power that is tempting us and compelling us to see that\nwhich has no real existence.\"\n\nFrom afar were heard the sound of angel harps and the tones of a Miserere.\nBut the lay brother thought it was the evil spirits of hell coming closer.\n\"They would enchant and seduce us,\" sighed he, \"and we shall be sold into\nperdition.\"\n\nThe angel throng was so near now that Abbot Hans saw their bright forms\nthrough the forest branches. The lay brother saw them, too; but back of\nall this wondrous beauty he saw only some dread evil. For him it was the\ndevil who performed these wonders on the anniversary of our Saviour's\nbirth. It was done simply for the purpose of more effectually deluding\npoor human beings.\n\nAll the while the birds had been circling around the head of Abbot Hans,\nand they let him take them in his hands. But all the animals were afraid\nof the lay brother; no bird perched on his shoulder, no snake played at\nhis feet. Then there came a little forest dove. When she marked that the\nangels were nearing, she plucked up courage and flew down on the lay\nbrother's shoulder and laid her head against his cheek.\n\nThen it appeared to him as if sorcery were come right upon him, to tempt\nand corrupt him. He struck with his hand at the forest dove and cried in\nsuch a loud voice that it rang throughout the forest, \"Go thou back to\nhell, whence thou art come!\"\n\nJust then the angels were so near that Abbot Hans felt the feathery touch\nof their great wings, and he bowed down to earth in reverent greeting.\n\nBut when the lay brother's words sounded, their song was hushed and the\nholy guests turned in flight. At the same time the light and the mild\nwarmth vanished in unspeakable terror for the darkness and cold in a human\nheart. Darkness sank over the earth, like a coverlet; frost came, all the\ngrowths shrivelled up; the animals and birds hastened away; the rushing of\nstreams was hushed; the leaves dropped from the trees, rustling like rain.\n\nAbbot Hans felt how his heart, which had but lately swelled with bliss,\nwas now contracting with insufferable agony. \"I can never outlive this,\"\nthought he, \"that the angels from heaven had been so close to me and were\ndriven away; that they wanted to sing Christmas carols for me and were\ndriven to flight.\"\n\nThen he remembered the flower he had promised Bishop Absalon, and at the\nlast moment he fumbled among the leaves and moss to try and find a\nblossom. But he sensed how the ground under his fingers froze and how the\nwhite snow came gliding over the ground. Then his heart caused him ever\ngreater anguish. He could not rise, but fell prostrate on the ground and\nlay there.\n\nWhen the robber folk and the lay brother had groped their way back to the\ncave, they missed Abbot Hans. They took brands with them and went out to\nsearch for him. They found him dead upon the coverlet of snow.\n\nThen the lay brother began weeping and lamenting, for he understood that\nit was he who had killed Abbot Hans because he had dashed from him the cup\nof happiness which he had been thirsting to drain to its last drop.\n\nWhen Abbot Hans had been carried down to \u00d6vid, those who took charge of\nthe dead saw that he held his right hand locked tight around something\nwhich he must have grasped at the moment of death. When they finally got\nhis hand open, they found that the thing which he had held in such an iron\ngrip was a pair of white root bulbs, which he had torn from among the moss\nand leaves.\n\nWhen the lay brother who had accompanied Abbot Hans saw the bulbs, he took\nthem and planted them in Abbot Hans' herb garden.\n\nHe guarded them the whole year to see if any flower would spring from\nthem. But in vain he waited through the spring, the summer, and the\nautumn. Finally, when winter had set in and all the leaves, and the\nflowers were dead, he ceased caring for them.\n\nBut when Christmas Eve came again, he was so strongly reminded of Abbot\nHans that he wandered out into the garden to think of him. And look! as he\ncame to the spot where he had planted the bare root bulbs, he saw that\nfrom them had sprung flourishing green stalks, which bore beautiful\nflowers with silver white leaves.\n\nHe called out all the monks at \u00d6vid, and when they saw that this plant\nbloomed on Christmas Eve, when all the other growths were as if dead, they\nunderstood that this flower had in truth been plucked by Abbot Hans from\nthe Christmas garden in G\u00f6inge  forest. Then the lay brother asked the\nmonks if he might take a few blossoms to Bishop Absalon.\n\nAnd when he appeared before Bishop Absalon, he gave him the flowers and\nsaid: \"Abbot Hans sends you these. They are the flowers he promised to\npick for you from the garden in G\u00f6inge forest.\"\n\nWhen Bishop Absalon beheld the flowers, which had sprung from the earth in\ndarkest winter, and heard the words, he turned as pale as if he had met a\nghost. He sat in silence a moment; thereupon he said, \"Abbot Hans has\nfaithfully kept his word and I shall also keep mine.\" And he ordered that\na letter of ransom be drawn up for the wild robber who was outlawed and\nhad been forced to live in the forest ever since his youth.\n\nHe handed the letter to the lay brother, who departed at once for the\nRobbers' Cave. When he stepped in there on Christmas Day, the robber came\ntoward him with axe uplifted. \"I'd like to hack you monks into bits, as\nmany as you are!\" said he. \"It must be your fault that G\u00f6inge forest did\nnot last night dress itself in Christmas bloom.\"\n\n\"The fault is mine alone,\" said the lay brother, \"and I will gladly die\nfor it; but first I must deliver a message from Abbot Hans.\" And he drew\nforth the Bishop's letter and told the man that he was free. \"Hereafter\nyou and your children shall play in the Christmas straw and celebrate your\nChristmas among people, just as Abbot Hans wished to have it,\" said he.\n\nThen Robber Father stood there pale and speechless, but Robber Mother said\nin his name, \"Abbot Hans has indeed kept his word, and Robber Father will\nkeep his.\"\n\nWhen the robber and his wife left the cave, the lay brother moved in and\nlived all alone in the forest, in constant meditation and prayer that his\nhard-heartedness might be forgiven him.\n\nBut G\u00f6inge forest never again celebrated the hour of our Saviour's birth;\nand of all its glory, there lives to-day only the plant which Abbot Hans\nhad plucked. It has been named CHRISTMAS ROSE. And each year at\nChristmastide she sends forth from the earth her green stalks and white\nblossoms, as if she never could forget that she had once grown in the\ngreat Christmas garden at G\u00f6inge forest.\n\n\n\nF\u00c9LIX\n\nBy EVALEEN STEIN\n\n\nA very long while ago, perhaps as many as two hundred years, the little\nProven\u00e7al village of Sur Varne was all bustle and stir, for it was the\nweek before Christmas; and always, in all the world, no one has known\nbetter how to keep the joyous holiday than have the happy-hearted people\nof Provence, the southeastern corner of France.\n\nEverybody was busy, hurrying to and fro, gathering garlands of myrtle and\nlaurel, bringing home their Yule logs with pretty old songs and\nceremonies, and in various ways making ready for the all-important\nfestival.\n\nNot a house in Sur Varne but in some manner told the coming of the blessed\nbirthday, and especially were there great preparations in the cottage of\nthe shepherd, P\u00e8re Michaud. This cottage, covered with white stucco, and\nthatched with long marsh-grass, stood at the edge of the village; olive\nand mulberry trees clustered about it, and a wild jasmine vine clambered\nover the doorway, while on this particular morning all around the low\nprojecting eaves hung a row of tiny wheat-sheaves, swinging in the crisp\nDecember air, and twinkling in the sunlight like a golden fringe. For the\nP\u00e8re Michaud had been up betimes, making ready the Christmas feast for the\nbirds, which no Proven\u00e7al peasant ever forgets at this gracious season;\nand the birds knew it, for already dozens of saucy robins and linnets and\nfieldfares were gathering in the P\u00e8re's mulberry-trees, their mouths\nfairly watering with anticipation.\n\nWithin the cottage the good dame, the Mis\u00e8 Michaud, with wide sleeves\nrolled up and kirtle tucked back, was hard at work making all manner of\nsavory goodies, while in the huge oven beside the blazing hearth the great\nChristmas cakes were baking, the famous _pompou_ and _fougasse_, as they\nwere called, dear to the hearts of the children of old Provence.\n\nNow and then, as the cottage door swung open on the dame's various cookery\nerrands, one might hear a faint \"Baa, baa!\" from the sheepfold, where\nlittle F\u00e9lix Michaud was very busy also.\n\nThrough the crevices of its weather-beaten boards came the sound of\nvigorous scrubbing of wool, and sometimes an impatient \"Ninette!\nNinette!--thou silly sheep! Wilt thou never stand still?\" Or else, in a\nSofter tone, an eager \"Beppo, my little Beppo, dost thou know? Dost\nthou know?\" To all of which there would come no answer save the lamb's\nweak little \"Baa, baa!\"\n\nFor Ninette, Beppo's mother, was a silly old sheep, and Beppo was a very\nyoung little lamb, and so they could not possibly be expected to know what\na great honor had suddenly befallen them. They did not dream that, the\nnight before, P\u00e8re Michaud had told F\u00e9lix that his Beppo (for Beppo was\nF\u00e9lix's very own) had been chosen by the shepherds for the \"offered lamb\"\nof the Christmas Eve procession in all its festival splendor in the great\nchurch of the village.\n\nOf the importance of this procession in the eyes of the peasant folk I\nwill tell you more by and by; it is enough to say now that to be the\noffered lamb, or indeed the offered lamb's mother, for both always went\ntogether, was the greatest honor and glory that could possibly happen to a\nProven\u00e7al sheep, and so little F\u00e9lix was fairly bursting with pride and\ndelight. And so it was, too, that he was now busying himself washing their\nwool, which he determined should shine like spun silver on the great\nnight.\n\nHe tugged away, scrubbing and brushing and combing the thick fleeces, and\nat last, after much labor, considered their toilets done for the day;\nthen, giving each a handful of fresh hay to nibble, he left the fold and\ntrudged into the cottage.\n\n\"Well, little one,\" said the Mis\u00e8, \"hast thou finished thy work?\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" answered F\u00e9lix; \"and I shall scrub them so each day till\nthe holy night! Even now Ninette is white as milk, and Beppo shines like\nan angel! Ah, but I shall be proud when he rides up to the altar in his\nlittle cart! And, mother, dost thou not really think him far handsomer\nthan was Jean's lamb, that stupid Nano, in the procession last year?\"\n\n\"There, there,\" said the Mis\u00e8, \"never thou mind about Jean's lamb, but run\nalong now and finish thy cr\u00e8che.\"\n\nNow, in Provence, at the time when F\u00e9lix lived, no one had ever heard of\nsuch a thing as a Christmas tree; but in its stead every cottage had a\n\"cr\u00e8che\"; that is, in one corner of the great living-room, the room of the\nfireplace, the peasant children and their fathers and mothers built up on\na table a mimic village of Bethlehem, with houses and people and animals,\nand, above all, with the manger, where the Christ Child lay. Everyone took\nthe greatest pains to make the cr\u00e8che as perfect as possible, and some\neven went so far as to fasten tiny angels to the rafters, so that they\nhovered over the toy houses like a flock of white butterflies; and\nsometimes a gold star, hung on a golden thread, quivered over the little\nmanger, in memory of the wonderful star of the Magi.\n\nIn the Michaud cottage the cr\u00e8che was already well under way. In the\ncorner across from the fireplace the P\u00e8re had built up a mound, and this\nF\u00e9lix had covered with bits of rock and tufts of grass, and little green\nboughs for trees, all to represent the rocky hillside of Judea; then,\nhalf-way up, he began to place the tiny houses. These he had cut out of\nwood and adorned with wonderful carving, in which, indeed, he was very\nskilful. And then, such figures as he had made, such quaint little men and\nwomen, such marvelous animals, camels and oxen and sheep and horses, were\nnever before seen in Sur Varne. But the figure on which he had lavished\nhis utmost skill was that of the little Christ Child, which was not to be\nplaced in the manger until Christmas night itself.\n\nF\u00e9lix kept this figure in his blouse pocket, carefully wrapped up in a bit\nof wool, and he spent all his spare moments striving to give it some fresh\nbeauty; for I will tell you a secret: poor little F\u00e9lix had a great\npassion for carving, and the one thing for which he longed above all\nothers was to be allowed to apprentice himself in the workshop of P\u00e8re\nVideau, who was the master carver of the village, and whose beautiful work\non the portals of the great church was the admiration of F\u00e9lix's heart. He\nlonged, too, for better tools than the rude little knife he had, and for\ndays and years in which to learn to use them.\n\nBut the P\u00e8re Michaud had scant patience with these notions of the little\nson's, and once, when F\u00e9lix had ventured to speak to him about it, had\ninsisted rather sharply that he was to stick to his sheep-tending, so that\nwhen the P\u00e8re himself grew old he could take charge of the flocks and keep\nthe family in bread; for the P\u00e8re had small faith in the art of the carver\nas being able to supply the big brown loaves that the Mis\u00e8 baked every\nweek in the great stone oven. So F\u00e9lix was obliged to go on minding the\nflocks; but whenever he had a moment of his own, he employed it in carving\na bit of wood or chipping at a fragment of soft stone.\n\nBut while I have stopped to tell you all this he had almost finished the\ncr\u00e8che; the little houses were all in place, and the animals grouped about\nthe holy stable, or else seeming to crop the tufts of moss on the mimic\nrocky hillside.\n\n\"Well, well!\" said the P\u00e8re Michaud, who had just entered the cottage, \"'t\nis a fine bit of work thou hast there, my son! Truly 't is a brave\ncr\u00e8che!\"\n\nBut here the Mis\u00e8 called them both to the midday meal, which she had\nspread smoking hot on the shining deal table.\n\nWhen this was finished F\u00e9lix arose, and, as the P\u00e8re wished, once more\nwent out to the fold to see how the sheep, and especially his little\nBeppo, were faring.\n\nAs he pushed open the swinging door, Ninette, who was lazily dozing with\nher toes doubled up under her fleece, blinked her eyes and looked sleepily\naround; but Beppo was nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"Ninette!\" demanded F\u00e9lix fiercely, \"what hast thou done with my Beppo?\"\n\nAt this Ninette peered about in a dazed sort of way, and gave an alarmed\nlittle \"Baa!\" for she had not before missed Beppo, who, while she was\nasleep, had managed to push open the door of the fold and scamper off, no\none knew just where.\n\nF\u00e9lix gazed around in dismay when he realized that his lamb, the chosen\none, who had brought such pride and honor to him--that this was gone!\n\n\"Beppo!\" he shouted at the top of his lungs, \"Beppo! Beppo-o!\"\n\nBut no trace could he see of the little bundle of fleece he had scrubbed\nand combed so carefully that morning.\n\nHe stood irresolute a moment; then, thinking that if Beppo really were\nrunning off, not a second was to be lost, he set out at a brisk pace\nacross the sheep-meadow. He had no idea in what direction the truant lamb\nwould be likely to stray, but on he went, calling every little while in a\nshrill voice, \"Beppo!\" Now and then he fancied that he saw in the distance\na glimpse of white; but once it proved the Mis\u00e8 Fouchard's linen hung to\ndry on a currant-bush, and again it was a great white stone--but  no\nBeppo; and all the while F\u00e9lix kept on, quite forgetting that Beppo's\nweak, woolly legs could not possibly have carried him so great a distance.\n\nBy and by he had left the village meadows far behind, and was skirting the\ngreat marsh. Sometimes he shaded his eyes with his hand and looked far\nacross this low wet land to see if perhaps Beppo had strayed into its\nuncertain foothold; but nothing could he see but the waving rushes and the\ntall bitterns wading about on long, yellow legs.\n\nAnd still he pressed heedlessly on farther and farther, till, after a\nwhile, he found himself thrusting through a thick coppice of willow\nboughs. \"Oh,\" thought F\u00e9lix, \"what if poor Beppo has strayed into this\nwoodland!\" And tired as he was, he urged himself on, searching among the\ntrees; and it was not until he had wandered on and on, deeper and deeper\ninto the wood, that he realized that the dusk had fallen, and that he must\nbe a very, very long way from Sur Varne.\n\nF\u00e9lix then began to grow uneasy. He stood still and looked anxiously about\nhim; the dark forest trees closed around him on all sides, and he was\nquite unable to remember from which direction he had entered the wood.\n\nNow, F\u00e9lix was really a very brave little fellow, but he fairly quaked as\nhe peered through the gathering darkness; for in those days the forests of\nProvence were known to harbor many dangerous animals, especially wild\nboars and wolves. He pricked up his ears, and now and then thought he\nheard in the distance the stealthy tread of some four-footed forest\nprowler, and once he was sure he caught the deep howl of a wolf.\n\nThat ended his hesitation. He looked quickly around, and grasping the low\nboughs of a slender sapling, managed to swing himself up into a tall\nchestnut-tree that grew close by; and there he clung, clutching the thick\nbranches with might and main, feeling very cold and hungry and miserable,\nhis heart all the while sinking clear down into his little peasant shoes.\n\nAnd indeed he had cause for fear, for, not a great while after he had thus\nhidden himself, a gaunt wolf really did pass close by, sniffing and\npeering, till poor F\u00e9lix fairly gave up all hope of escaping from the\ntree; but, luckily, the wolf did not see him, and at last slowly crept on\nthrough the underwood.\n\nHow long the little boy stayed in the perilous shelter of the\nchestnut-tree he never knew, but it seemed untold ages to him. After a\nwhile the moon rose, and shed a faint light through the close-lapping\nbranches; and then, by and by, F\u00e9lix's ears, strained to listen for\nevery lightest sound, caught the echo of distant tramping, as of horses'\nhoofs, and presently two horsemen came in sight, picking their way\ncautiously along a narrow bridle-path.\n\nHe did not know whom they might prove to be, but wisely thinking that\nanything would be better than staying in a tree all night at the mercy of\nhungry wolves, he waited till the first rider came quite close, and then\nhe plucked up courage to call out faintly: \"Oh, sir, stop, I pray thee!\"\n\nAt this, the rider, who was none other than the noble Count Bernard of\nBois Varne, quickly drew rein and, turning, called to his companion:\n\n\"Ho, Brian! Heardest thou aught?\"\n\n\"Nay, my lord,\" answered Brian, who was some paces behind, \"naught save\nthe trampling of our own horses' hoofs.\"\n\nThe count looked all around, and seeing nothing, thought himself mistaken\nin the sound, and began to pace on. Then F\u00e9lix, in terror, gave another\nshout, this time louder, and at the same moment a little twig he was\npressing with his elbow broke away and dropped, striking against the\ncount's stirrup; for the bridle-path wound directly under the tree where\nF\u00e9lix was perched.\n\nThe count instantly checked his horse again, and, peering up into the\nboughs overhead, he caught sight of F\u00e9lix, his yellow hair wet with dew\nand shining in the moonlight, and his dark eyes wide with fear.\n\n\"Heigh-ho!\" exclaimed the count, in blank amazement. \"Upon my word, now!\nwhat art thou--boy or goblin?\"\n\nAt this F\u00e9lix gave a little sob, for he was very tired and very cold. He\nhugged the tree tightly, and, steadying himself against the boughs, at\nlast managed to falter out: \"Please thee, sir, I am F\u00e9lix Michaud, and my\nlamb Beppo, who was to ride in the Christmas procession, ran off to-day,\nand--and--I have been hunting him, I think, ever since--since yesterday!\"\nHere poor F\u00e9lix grew a trifle bewildered; it seemed to him so very long\nago since he had set out in search of Beppo. \"And I live in Sur Varne.\"\n\nAt this the count gave a long whistle. \"At Sur Varne!\" he exclaimed. \"If\nthou speakest truly, my little man, thou hast indeed a sturdy pair of legs\nto have carried thee thus far.\" And he eyed curiously F\u00e9lix's dusty little\nfeet and leathern leggings, dangling limply from the bough above him.\n\"Dost thou know how far distant is Sur Varne from this forest?\"\n\n\"Nay, sir,\" answered F\u00e9lix; \"but I trow 't is a great way.\"\n\n\"There thou art right,\" said the count; \"'t is a good two leagues, if it\nis a pace. But how now? Thou canst not bide here to become the prey of\nhungry wolves, my little night-owl of the yellow hair!\"\n\nAnd thereupon Count Bernard dexterously raised himself in his stirrups,\nand, reaching upward, caught F\u00e9lix in his arms and swung him down plump on\nthe saddle-bow in front of him; then, showing him how to steady himself by\nholding the pommel, he turned to Brian, his squire, who while all this was\ngoing on had stood by in silent astonishment, and giving the order to\nmove, the little cavalcade hastened on at a rapid pace in order to get\nclear of the forest as quickly as possible.\n\nMeantime the Count Bernard, who was really a very kind and noble lord, and\nwho lived in a beautiful castle on the farther verge of the forest, quite\nreassured F\u00e9lix by talking to him kindly, and telling him of the six days'\njourney from which he and his squire Brian were just returning, and how\nthey had been delayed on the way until nightfall.\n\n\"And, by my faith!\" said Count Bernard, \"thou shalt sleep this night in\nthe strong castle of Bois Varne, with not even a mouse to fret thy yellow\nhead; and, what is more, thou shalt see the fairest little maid that ever\nthou hast set eyes on!\"\n\nAnd then he told him of his little daughter, the Lady Elinor, and how she\nwould play with F\u00e9lix and show him the castle, and how on the morrow they\nwould see about sending him home to Sur Varne.\n\nAnd all the while the count was talking they were trotting briskly onward,\ntill by and by they emerged from the forest and saw towering near at hand\nthe castle of Bois Varne. The tall turrets shone and shimmered in the\nmoonlight, and over the gateway of the drawbridge hung a lighted cresset--\nthat is, a beautiful wrought-iron basket, in which blazed a ruddy torch of\noil to light them on their way.\n\nAt sight of this the count and Brian spurred on their horses, and were\nsoon clattering across the bridge and into the great paved courtyard. The\ncount flung his bridle to a little page who hastened out to meet him, and\nthen, springing from his saddle, lightly lifted F\u00e9lix and swung him to the\nground. He took the boy by the hand and led him into the great hall of the\ncastle.\n\nTo F\u00e9lix this looked marvelously beautiful. Christmas garlands of myrtle\nhung on the walls, and a great pile of freshly cut laurel boughs lay on a\nbench, ready for the morrow's arranging. But that which took his eyes most\nof all was the lovely carving everywhere to be seen. The benches and\ntables were covered with it; the wainscot of the spacious room was richly\nadorned; and over and about the wide fireplace great carved dragons of\nstone curled their long tails and spread their wings through a maze of\nintricate traceries. F\u00e9lix was enchanted, and gazed around till his eyes\nfairly ached.\n\nPresently in came running a little girl, laughing with delight. Bounding\nup into Count Bernard's arms, she hugged and kissed him in true Proven\u00e7al\nfashion. Then, catching sight of F\u00e9lix, \"Ah, mon p\u00e8re,\" she exclaimed,\n\"and where foundest thou thy pretty new page?\"\n\n\"Nay, sweetheart,\" answered the count, looking down at F\u00e9lix's yellow\nhair; \"'t is no page, but a little goldfinch we found perched in a\nchestnut-tree as we rode through the forest.\"\n\nThen, smiling at the Lady Elinor's bewilderment, he told her the little\nboy's story, and she at once slipped down and greeted him kindly. Then,\nclapping her hands with pleasure at finding a new playmate, she declared\nhe must come and see the Christmas cr\u00e8che which she was just finishing.\nShe seized him by the hand and hastened across the hall, where her cr\u00e8che\nwas built up on a carved bench. The poor little Lady Elinor had no mother,\nand her father, the count, had been gone for several days; and while in\nthe castle were no end of serving men and women and retainers, yet none of\nthese presumed to dictate to the little mistress, and so she had put her\ncr\u00e8che together in a very odd fashion.\n\n\"There!\" said she, \"what thinkest thou of it, F\u00e9lix? Of a truth, I fancy\nsomewhat is wanting, yet I know not how to better it!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Felix, bashfully; \"it may be I can help thee.\"\n\nAnd so he set to work rearranging the little houses and figures, till he\nsucceeded in giving quite a lifelike air to the cr\u00e8che, and Lady Elinor\nfairly danced with delight.\n\nWhile placing the little manger he happened to remember the figure of the\nChrist Child still in his blouse pocket; this he timidly took out and\nshowed the little girl, who was charmed, and still more so when he drew\nforth a small wooden sheep and a dog, which were also in the same pocket.\n\nThe Lady Elinor was so carried away with joy that she flew to the side of\nthe count, and, grasping both his hands, dragged him across the room to\nshow him the cr\u00e8che and the wonderful figures carved by F\u00e9lix.\n\n\"See, mon p\u00e8re!\" said Elinor, \"see this, and this!\" And she held up the\nlittle carvings for the count's inspection.\n\nCount Bernard, who had good-naturedly crossed the room to please his\nlittle daughter, now opened his eyes wide with surprise. He took the\nlittle figures she handed him and examined them closely, for he was a good\njudge of artistic work of this kind. Then he looked at F\u00e9lix, and at\nlength he said:\n\n\"Well, little forest bird, who taught thee the carver's craft?\"\n\n\"No one, sir,\" faltered F\u00e9lix; \"indeed, I wish, above all things, to learn\nof the P\u00e8re Videau, the master carver; but my father says I must be a\nshepherd, as he is.\"\n\nHere a tear rolled down F\u00e9lix's cheek, for you must remember he was\nterribly tired.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the count, \"never mind! Thou art weary, little one; we\nwill talk of this more on the morrow. 'T is high time now that both of you\nwere sound asleep. Hey, there! Jean! Jacques! Come hither and take care of\nthis little lad, and see to it that he hath a soft bed and a feather\npillow!\"\n\nThe next morning the children ate a merry breakfast together, and after it\nCount Bernard took F\u00e9lix aside and asked him many questions of his life\nand his home. Then, by and by, knowing how anxious the boy's parents would\nbe, he ordered his trusty squire, Brian, to saddle a horse and conduct\nF\u00e9lix back to Sur Varne.\n\nMeantime the little Lady Elinor begged hard that he stay longer in the\ncastle for her playfellow, and was quite heartbroken when she saw the\nhorse stand ready in the courtyard. Indeed, she would not be satisfied\nuntil her father, the count, who could not bear to see her unhappy, had\npromised to some day take her over to see F\u00e9lix in Sur Varne. Then she\nsmiled, and made a pretty farewell courtesy, and suddenly snatching from\nher dark hair a crimson ribbon of Lyons taffeta, she tied it about F\u00e9lix's\nsleeve, declaring, \"There! thou must keep this token, and be my little\nknight!\" for the Lady Elinor had many lofty notions in her small curly\nhead.\n\nF\u00e9lix could only stammer out an embarrassed good-by, for in the presence\nof this lively little maid he found himself quaking more than when he\nfeared the terrible wolves of the forest. In another moment Brian lifted\nhim to the saddle, and, springing up behind, took the bridle-rein, and off\nthey went.\n\nWhen, after several hours' riding, they drew near Sur Varne, F\u00e9lix showed\nBrian the way to the Michaud cottage, and you can fancy how overjoyed were\nthe P\u00e8re and Mis\u00e8 to see the travelers; for they had been fairly beside\nthemselves with grief, and had searched all night for their little son.\n\nOf course almost the first question F\u00e9lix asked was about Beppo, and he\nfelt a great load taken off his mind when he learned that the little\ntruant, who had not really strayed very far from the village, had been\nfound and brought home by one of the shepherds, and was even then penned\nup safe and sound in the sheepfold.\n\nAfter a good night's sleep F\u00e9lix was quite rested from his journey, and\nwas busy the next day in helping garland the Yule log, in giving Ninette\nand Beppo an extra scrubbing and brushing, and in all the final happy\npreparations for the great holiday.\n\nAnd so Christmas Eve came. It was a lovely star-lit night, and on all sides\none could hear the beautiful Christmas songs of old Provence that all the\npeasants and the children sang as they trooped along the roads on their\nway to the great church of the village; for thither every one flocked as\nthe expected hour drew on.\n\nThen presently the stately service began, and went on with song and\nincense, and the sweet chanting of children's voices, till suddenly from\nthe upper tower of the church a joyous peal of bells rang in the midnight!\nAnd all at once, through the dense throng of worshipers  nearest the door\na pathway opened, and in came four peasants playing on pipes and flutes\nand flageolets a quaint old air made up three hundred years before by good\nKing Ren\u00e9 for just such a ceremony as was to follow.\n\nAfter the pipers walked ten shepherds, two by two, each wearing a long\nbrown cloak, and carrying a staff and lighted candle; that is, all save\nthe first two, and these bore, one a basket of fruit, the melons and\ngrapes and pears of sunny Provence, while the other held in his hands a\npair of pretty white pigeons with rose-colored eyes and soft, fluttering\nwings.\n\nAnd then, behind the shepherds came--what do you suppose?--Ninette!\nNinette, her fleece shining like snow, a garland of laurel and myrtle\nabout her neck, and twigs of holly nodding behind her ears, while bound\nabout her woolly shoulders a little harness of scarlet leather shone\nagainst the white with dazzling effect; and fastened to the harness, and\ntrundling along at Ninette's heels, came the gayest of little wooden\ncarts. It was painted in the brightest colors. Its wheels were wrapped\nwith garlands, and in it, curled up in a fat fleecy ball, lay Beppo! Tied\nabout his neck in a huge bow was a crimson ribbon of Lyons taffeta, with a\nsprig of holly tucked into its loops.\n\nBeppo lay quite still, looking about him with a bewildered, half-dazed\nexpression, and just behind his cart came ten more shepherds with staffs\nand candles, while following them was a great throng of peasant folk and\nchildren (among them F\u00e9lix), all carrying lighted tapers, and radiant with\ndelight; for this was the Procession of the Offered Lamb, and to walk in\nits train was considered by all as the greatest honor and privilege.\n\nAnd especially did the shepherd folk love the beautiful old custom which\nfor centuries the people of Provence had cherished from year to year in\nmemory of the time, long ago, when the real Christ Child lay in the manger\nof Bethlehem, and the shepherds of Judea sought him out to worship him,\nand to offer him their fruits and lambs as gifts.\n\nAnd so on up the long aisle the procession slowly moved, the pipers\nplaying, and Ninette marching solemnly along, only now and then pausing to\nthrust her nose between the P\u00e8re Michaud and his companion, who walked\ndirectly  in front of her. Ninette pattered on as if she had trod the\nfloors of churches all her life; and as for Beppo, only once did he stir,\nand then he gave a faint \"Baa!\" and tried to uncurl himself and stand up;\nbut just then the queer little cart gave a joggle which quite upset his\nshaky lamb legs, and down he sank, and kept quiet throughout the rest of\nthe time.\n\nAfter the service the players again struck up King Ren\u00e9's tune, and the\nprocession, shepherds, Ninette, Beppo, peasants, and all, once more moved\non, this time down the outer aisle and toward the great open portal.\n\nIt took some time for the last of its followers to reach the doorway, for\nthe throng was very great; but at length F\u00e9lix, who had marched with the\nchildren in the last group, came to the threshold and stepped out into the\nstarry night.\n\nHe stood for a moment smiling and gazing aimlessly ahead, overwhelmed with\nthe glory of all that had passed within the church, when presently he felt\nsome one pluck his sleeve, and turning round, he met the dancing eyes of\nthe little Lady Elinor.\n\nShe gave a little peal of laughter at his surprise, and exclaimed: \"Oh, I\ncoaxed _mon p\u00e8re,_ the count, to fetch me hither for this blessed night.\nThou knowest he promised! I rode my white palfrey all the way by the side\nof his big brown horse. And I have seen the procession, and Beppo with my\nred ribbon round his neck.\" Here she gave another little gurgle of\ndelight. \"And oh, F\u00e9lix, my father hath seen thine, and 't is all settled!\nThou art to be a famous carver with the P\u00e8re Videau, as thou wishest\" (for\nthe Lady Elinor had unbounded faith in F\u00e9lix's powers); \"and, F\u00e9lix,\" she\nadded, \"I trow 't was the little Christ Child for thy cr\u00e8che that did it!\"\n\nThen, with a merry little smile, she darted off to her father, the Count\nBernard, who was waiting for her down the church path.\n\nFor a little while after she had gone F\u00e9lix did not move, but stood as one\nin a dream. Presently a loud bleat close at his side startled him, and,\nlooking down, he saw that Ninette, decked in her gay garlands, and still\ndragging the be-ribboned Beppo in the little cart, had broken away from\nthe P\u00e8re Michaud and come close up to himself.\n\nThen, with a sudden movement, he stooped over, and, seizing Beppo in both\narms, hugged and squeezed him till poor Beppo squeaked with surprise, and\nopened his red mouth and fairly gasped for breath. But F\u00e9lix only hugged\nhim the harder, murmuring under his breath, \"Bless thy little heart,\nBeppo! Bless thy little heart!\" For in a vague way he realized that the\ntruant lamb had somehow brought him his heart's desire, and that was quite\nenough Christmas happiness for one year.\n\nAnd the little Lady Elinor was right, too. Years after, when F\u00e9lix grew to\nbe a man, he did, in very truth, become a \"famous carver,\" as she had\ndeclared.\n\nFar surpassing his first master, the P\u00e8re Videau, he traveled and worked\nin many cities; yet never, through all his long life, did he forget that\nChristmas Eve in  the little village of Sur Varne.\n\nThose who knew him best said that among his dearest treasures he always\nkept a beautifully carved little box, and in it a bit of faded crimson\nribbon from the looms of Lyons. While, as for Beppo--well, if ever some\nhappy day you chance to visit the lovely land of Provence, perhaps you\nwill see a certain grand old cathedral in the ancient city of Arles; and,\nif you do, look sharp at the figure of a lamb chiseled in white stone over\nthe great portal. Look well, I say, for F\u00e9lix, when he carved it, would\nhave told you that he was thinking all the while of his little pet lamb\nBeppo.\n\n\n\nTHE SABOT OF LITTLE WOLFF\n\nFRAN\u00c7OIS COPP\u00c9E\n\n\nOnce upon a time,--it was so long ago that the whole world has forgotten\nthe date,--in a city in the north of Europe, whose name is so difficult to\npronounce that nobody remembers it,--once upon a time there was a little\nboy of seven, named Wolff. He was an orphan in charge of an old aunt who\nwas hard and avaricious, who only kissed him on New Year's Day, and who\nbreathed a sigh of regret every time that she gave him a porringer of\nsoup.\n\nBut the poor little lad was naturally so good that he loved his aunt just\nthe same, although she frightened him very much; and he could never see\nher without trembling, for fear she would whip him.\n\nAs the aunt of Wolff was known through all the village to have a house and\nan old stocking full of gold, she did not dare send her nephew to the\nschool for the poor, but she obtained a reduction of the price with the\nschoolmaster whose school little Wolff attended. The teacher, vexed at\nhaving a scholar so badly dressed and who paid so poorly, often punished\nhim unjustly, and even set his fellow-pupils against him.\n\nThe poor little fellow was therefore as miserable as the stones in the\nstreet, and hid himself in out-of-the-way corners to cry when Christmas\ncame.\n\nThe night before Christmas the schoolmaster was to take all of his pupils\nto church, and bring them back to their homes. As the winter was very\nsevere that year, and as for several days a great quantity of snow had\nfallen, the children came to the master's house warmly wrapped and bundled\nup, with fur caps pulled down over their ears, double and triple jackets,\nknitted gloves and mittens, and good, thick-nailed boots with strong\nsoles. Only little Wolff came shivering in the clothes that he wore\nweek-days and Sundays, and with nothing on his feet but coarse Strasbourg\nsocks and heavy sabots, or wooden shoes.\n\nHis thoughtless comrades made a thousand jests over his forlorn looks and\nhis peasant's dress; but little Wolff was so occupied in blowing on his\nfingers to keep them warm, that he took no notice of the boys or what they\nsaid.\n\nThe troop of boys, with their master at their head, started for the\nchurch. As they went they talked of the fine suppers that were waiting\nthem at home. The son of the burgomaster had seen, before he went out, a\nmonstrous goose that the truffles marked with black spots like a leopard.\nAt the house of one of the boys there was a little fir tree in a wooden\nbox, from whose branches hung oranges, sweetmeats and toys.\n\nThe children spoke, too, of what the Christ-child would bring to them, and\nwhat he would put in their shoes, which they would, of course, be very\ncareful to leave in the chimney before going to bed. And the eyes of those\nlittle boys, lively as a parcel of mice, sparkled in advance with the joy\nof seeing in their imagination pink paper bags filled with cakes, lead\nsoldiers drawn up in battalions in their boxes, menageries smelling of\nvarnished wood, and magnificent jumping-jacks covered with purple and\nbells.\n\nLittle Wolff knew very well by experience that his old aunt would send him\nsupperless to bed; but, knowing that all the year he had been as good and\nindustrious as possible, he hoped that the Christ-child would not forget\nhim, and he, too, looked eagerly forward to putting his wooden shoes in\nthe ashes of the fireplace.\n\nWhen the service was ended, every one went away, anxious for his supper,\nand the band of children, walking two by two after their teacher, left the\nchurch.\n\nIn the porch, sitting on a stone seat under a Gothic niche, a child was\nsleeping--a child who was clad in a robe of white linen, and whose feet\nwere bare, notwithstanding the cold. He was not a beggar, for his robe was\nnew and fresh, and near him on the ground was seen a square, a hatchet, a\npair of compasses, and the other tools of a carpenter's apprentice. Under\nthe light of the stars, his face bore an expression of divine sweetness,\nand his long locks of golden hair seemed like an aureole about his head.\nBut the child's feet, blue in the cold of that December night, were sad to\nsee.\n\nThe children, so well clothed and shod for the winter, passed heedlessly\nbefore the unknown child. One of them, the son of one of the principal men\nin the village, looked at the waif with an expression in which no pity\ncould be seen.\n\nBut little Wolff, coming the last out of the church, stopped, full of\ncompassion, before the beautiful sleeping child. \"Alas!\" said the orphan\nto himself, \"it is too bad that this poor little one has to go barefoot in\nsuch bad weather. But what is worse than all, he has not even a boot or a\nwooden shoe to leave before him while he sleeps to-night, so that the\nChrist-child could put something there to comfort him in his misery.\"\n\nAnd, carried away by the goodness of his heart, little Wolff took off the\nwooden shoe from his right foot, and laid it in front of the sleeping\nchild. Then, limping along on his poor blistered foot and dragging his\nsock through the snow, he went back to his aunt's house.\n\n\"Look at that worthless fellow!\" cried his aunt, full of anger at his\nreturn without one of his shoes. \"What have you done with your wooden\nshoe, little wretch?\"\n\nLittle Wolff did not know how to deceive, and although he was shaking with\nterror, he tried to stammer out some account of his adventure.\n\nThe old woman burst into a frightful peal of laughter. \"Ah, monsieur takes\noff his shoes for beggars! Ah, monsieur gives away his wooden shoes to a\nbarefoot! This is something new! Ah, well, since that is so, I am going to\nput the wooden shoe which you have left in the chimney, and I promise you\nthe Christ-child will leave there to-night something to whip you with in\nthe morning. And you shall pass the day to-morrow on dry bread and water.\nWe will see if next time you give away your shoe to the first vagabond\nthat comes.\"\n\nThen the aunt, after having given the poor boy a couple of slaps, made him\nclimb up to his bed in the attic. Grieved to the heart, the child went to\nbed in the dark, and soon went to sleep, his pillow wet with tears.\n\nOn the morrow morning, when the old woman went downstairs--oh, wonderful\nsight!--she saw the great chimney full of beautiful playthings, and sacks\nof magnificent candies, and all sorts of good things; and before all these\nsplendid things the right shoe, that her nephew had given to the little\nwaif, stood by the side of the left shoe, that she herself had put there\nthat very night, and where she meant to put a birch rod.\n\nAs little Wolff, running down to learn the meaning of his aunt's\nexclamation, stood in artless ecstasy before all these splendid gifts,\nsuddenly there were loud cries and laughter out of doors. The old woman\nand the little boy went out to know what it all meant, and saw the\nneighbors gathered around the public fountain. What had happened? Oh,\nsomething very amusing and extraordinary! The children of all the rich\npeople of the village, those whose parents had wished to surprise them\nwith the most beautiful gifts, had found only rods in their shoes.\n\nThen the orphan and the old woman, thinking of all the beautiful things\nthat were in their chimney, were full of amazement. But presently they saw\nthe cur\u00e9 coming toward them, with wonder in his face. In the church porch,\nwhere in the evening a child, clad in a white robe, and with bare feet,\nhad rested his sleeping head, the cur\u00e9 had just seen a circle of gold\nincrusted with precious stones.\n\nThen the people understood that the beautiful sleeping child, near whom\nwere the carpenter's tools, was the Christ-child in person, become for an\nhour such as he was when he worked in his parents' house, and they bowed\nthemselves before that miracle that the good God had seen fit to work, to\nreward the faith and charity of a child.\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FRIEND\n\nABBIE FARWELL BROWN\n\n\n\"Oh! I am so cold, so cold!\" sobbed little Pierre, as he stumbled through\nthe snow which was drifting deep upon the mountain side. \"Oh, I am so\ncold! The snow bites my face and blinds me, so that I cannot see the road.\nWhere are all the Christmas candle-lights? The people of the village must\nhave forgotten. The little Jesus will lose His way to-night. I never\nforgot to set our window at home full of lights on Christmas Eve. But now\nit is Christmas Eve, and there is no home any more. And I am so cold, so\ncold!\"\n\nLittle Pierre sobbed again and stumbled in the snow, which was drifting\ndeeper and deeper upon the mountain side. This was the stormiest Christmas\nEve which had been seen for years, and all the little boys who had good\nhomes were hugging themselves close to the fire, glad that they were not\nout in the bleak night. Every window was full of flickering tapers to\nlight the expected Holy Child upon His way through the village to the\nchurch. But little Pierre had strayed so far from the road that he could\nnot see these rows and rows of tiny earth-stars, any more than he could\nsee through the snow the far-off sky-stars which the angels had lighted\nalong the streets of heaven.\n\nPierre was on his way to the village from the orphan boys' home at the\nAbb\u00e9's charity school. And that was not like a happy real home, for the\nlittle Brothers were rough and rude and far from loving one another. He\nhad started at dusk from the school, hoping to be at the village church\nbefore curfew. For Pierre had a sweet little voice, and he was to earn a\nfew pennies by singing in the choir on Christmas morning. But it was\ngrowing late. The church would be closed and the Cur\u00e9 gone home before\nPierre could reach it; and then what should he do?\n\nThe snow whirled faster and faster, and Pierre's legs found it harder and\nharder to move themselves through the great drifts. They seemed heavy and\nnumb, and he was growing oh, so tired! If he could but lie down to sleep\nuntil Christmas Day! But he knew that he must not do that. For those who\nchoose this kind of soft and tempting bed turn into ice-people, and do not\nwake up in the morning. So he bent his head and tried to plough on through\nthe drifts.\n\nWhish! A soft white thing flapped through the snow and struck Pierre in\nthe face, so that he staggered and almost lost his balance. The next\nmoment he had caught the thing as it fell and was holding it tenderly in\nhis numb hands. It was a beautiful dove, white as the snow from which it\nseemed to come. It had been whirled about by the storm until it had lost\nstrength to fly, and it now lay quite still, with closed eyes. Pierre\nstroked the ruffled feathers gently and blew upon its cold body, trying to\nbring it back to life.\n\n\"Poor bird!\" he said softly. \"You are lost in the snow, like me. I will\ntry to keep you warm, though I am myself a cold little body.\" He put the\nbird under his jacket, holding it close to his heart. Presently the dove\nopened its eyes and stirred feebly, giving a faint \"Coo!\"\n\n\"I wish I had something for you to eat, poor bird,\" said Pierre,\nforgetting his own cold and hunger. \"If I could but take you into my own\nhouse and feed you as I used to feed the birds upon Christmas Eve! But now\nI have no home myself, and I can scarcely keep you warm.\"\n\nPierre shivered and tried to move forward. But the storm seemed to grow\neven fiercer, and the wind blew so keenly in his face that he could\nscarcely stand. \"I cannot go another step,\" he said, and down he sank in\nthe snow, which began to cover him with a downy blanket, pretending to be\na careful mother. He hugged the bird closer and began to feel afraid. He\nknew that he was in great danger. \"Dear Dove,\" he whispered, \"I am sorry\nthat I cannot save you. We shall turn into ice-images together. But I will\nkeep you warm as long as I can.\" Then he closed his eyes, for he was very\nsleepy.\n\nIn a little while something made Pierre open his eyes. At first he could\nsee only the whirling snow, which seemed to be everywhere. But presently\nhe found that some one was bending over him, with face close to his; some\none chubby and rosy and young,--a child like himself, but more beautiful\nthan any child whom Pierre had ever seen. He stared hard at the face which\nseemed to smile at him through the snow, not minding the cold.\n\n\"You have my dove inside your coat,\" said the Child, pointing. \"I lost her\nin the storm. Give her to me.\"\n\nPierre held his coat the closer. \"She was cold,\" he answered. \"She was\ndying in the snow. I am trying to keep her warm.\"\n\n\"But she is warm when she is with me, though I have no coat to wrap her\nin,\" said the Child. And, indeed, he was clad only in a little shirt, with\nhis rosy legs quite bare. Yet he looked not cold. A brightness glowed\nabout him, and his breath seemed to warm the air. Pierre saw that, though\nit was still snowing beyond them, there were no whirling flakes between\nhim and the Child.\n\nThe little Stranger held out his hand once more. \"Please give me the\ndove,\" he begged. \"I must hasten on my way to the village yonder. The dove\nstrayed from my bosom and was lost. You found her here, far from the road.\nThank you, little boy. Are you often so kind to poor lost birds!\"\n\n\"Why, they are the Lord's own birds!\" cried little Pierre. \"How should one\nnot be kind and love them dearly? On the Lord's birthday eve, too! It is\nlittle that I could do for this one,--I who have saved and fed so many on\nother Christmas Eves. Alas, I wish I was back in those good old days of\nthe wheat-sheaf and the full pan of milk and the bright warm fire!\"\nPierre's eyes filled with tears.\n\n\"What! Did you set a sheaf of wheat for the birds on Christmas Eve?\" asked\nthe Child, drawing closer and bending kindly eyes upon Pierre.\n\nNow the boy saw that where the Stranger stood the snow had melted all\naway, so that they were inclosed in a little space like a downy nest,\nwhich seemed almost warm to his limbs.\n\n\"Yes, I set out a wheat-sheaf,\" said Pierre simply. \"Why not? I love all\nthe little creatures whom our Lord Himself so dearly loved, and to whom He\nbade us be kind. On Christmas Eve especially I always tried to make happy\nthose which He sent in my way,--poor little wanderers as well as our own\nfriends at home.\"\n\nThe Child drew yet closer and sat down in the snow beside Pierre. His\nbeautiful eyes shone like stars, and his voice was like sweet music.\n\"What,\" he said, \"you are the boy who stood in the doorway with a pan of\nbread and milk,--part of your own supper,--and called the hungry kitten to\nfeast? You are the same who tossed a bone to the limping dog and made him\na bed in the stable? You stroked the noses of the ox and the ass and said\ngentle things to them, because they were the first friends of the little\nJesus? You set the sheaf of wheat for the snow-birds, and they lighted upon\nyour hands and shoulders and kissed your lips in gratitude? You are that\nboy, friend of God's friends. No wonder that my white dove flew to you out\nof the storm. She knew, she knew!\"\n\nThe Child bent near and kissed Pierre on the cheeks, so that they grew\nrosy, and the warm blood went tingling through his little cold limbs.\nSitting up, he said: \"Yes, I am that boy who last year was so happy\nbecause he could do these pleasant things. But how do you know, little\nStranger? How did you see?\"\n\n\"Oh, I know, I saw!\" cried the Child, gleefully clapping his hands as a\nchild will. \"I was there. I passed through the village last Christmas Eve,\nand I saw it all. But tell me now, how do you come here, dear boy? Why are\nyou not in that happy home this stormy night, once more making the Lord's\ncreatures happy?\"\n\nPierre told all to the Child: how his dear father and mother had died and\nleft him alone in the world; how the home had been sold, and now he lived\nin the charity school kept by the good Abb\u00e9; how he had learned of the\nchance to earn a few pennies by singing on Christmas Day in the\nneighboring village church, which lacked a voice among the choir-boys; how\nhe was on his way thither when the storm had hidden the road, and he had\ngrown so cold, so cold!\n\n\"Then your dove came to me, little Stranger,\" Pierre concluded. \"She came,\nand I folded her in my jacket to keep her warm. But, do you know, it must\nbe that she has kept _me_ warm. Although I could walk no further, I am not\ncold at all, nor frightened, and no longer hungry. Sit close to me, little\nStranger. You shall share my jacket, too, and we will all three warm one\nanother.\"\n\nThe Child laughed again, a low, soft, silvery laugh, like a happy brook\nslipping over the pebbles. \"I am not cold,\" he said. \"I cannot stay with\nyou. I must go yonder.\" And he pointed through the snow.\n\n\"Whither, oh, whither?\" cried Pierre eagerly. \"Let me go with you. I am\nlost; but if you know the way we can go together, hand in hand.\"\n\nThe Child shook his head. \"Not so,\" he said. \"I do not follow the path,\nand your feet would stumble. I shall find a way without sinking in the\nsnow. I must go alone. But there is a better way for you. I leave my dove\nwith you: she will keep you warm until help comes. Farewell, friend of the\nLord's friends.\" Stooping the Child kissed Pierre once more, upon the\nforehead. Then, before the boy saw how he went, he had vanished from the\nlittle nest of snow, without leaving a footprint behind.\n\nNow the dove, clasped close to Pierre's heart, seemed to warm him like a\nlittle fire within; and the Child's kiss on his forehead made him so\nhappy, but withal so drowsy, that he smiled as he closed his eyes once\nmore repeating, \"'Until help comes.' 'There is a better way' for me.\"\n\n\nII\n\nOn the side of the mountain, away from the village street, perched the\nlittle hut of Grandfather Viaud. And here, on Christmas Eve, sat the old\nman and his wife, looking very sad and lonely. For there was no sound of\nchildish laughter in the little hut, no patter of small feet, no\nwhispering of Christmas secrets. The little Viauds had long since grown up\nand flown away to build nests of their own in far-off countries. Poor\nJosef Viaud and old Bettine were quite alone this Christmas Eve, save for\nthe Saint Bernard who was stretched out before the fire, covering half the\nfloor with his huge bulk, like a furry rug. He was the very Prince of\ndogs, as his name betokened, and he was very good to Grandfather and\nGrandmother, who loved him dearly. But on Christmas  Eve even the littlest\ncottage, crowded with the biggest tenants, seems lonely unless there are\nchildren in the corners.\n\nThe Viauds sat silently gazing into the fire, with scarcely a word for\neach other, scarcely a caress for faithful Prince. Indeed, the great dog\nhimself seemed to know that something was lacking, and every once in a\nwhile would lift his head and whine wistfully.\n\nIn each of the two small windows burned a row of candles, flickering in\nthe draught that blew down the great chimney and swept through the little\nchamber. And these, with the crackling blaze upon the hearth, sent queer\nshadows quivering up the smoky walls.\n\nGrandfather Viaud looked over his shoulder as a great gust blew the ashes\ninto the room. \"Hey!\" he cried. \"I almost fancied the shadow of one\nlooking in at the window. Ha, ha! What foolishness! Eh! but it is a\nfearsome storm. Pray the good Lord that there may be no poor creatures\nwandering on the mountain this night.\"\n\n\"The Lord's birthday, too!\" said Grandmother Bettine. \"The dear little\nChild has a cold way to come. Even He might become confused and be driven\nto wander by such a whirl of snow. I am glad that we set the tapers there,\nJosef, even though we be so far from the village street down which they\nsay He passes. How pleasant to think that one might give light to His\nblessed feet if they were wandering from the way,--the dear little Child's\nfeet, so rosy and soft and tender!\" And good Grandmother Viaud dropped a\ntear upon her knitting; for she remembered many such little feet that had\nonce pattered about the cottage floor. Prince lifted his head and seemed\nto listen, then whined as he had done before.\n\n\"You are lonely, old fellow, are you not?\" quavered old Josef. \"You are\nwaiting for the children to come back and make it merry, as it used to be\nin the old days when you were a pup. Heigho! Those were pleasant days, but\nthey will never come again, Prince. We are all growing old, we three\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Ah, peace, Josef, peace!\" cried old Bettine, wiping her eyes again. \"It\nis lonely enough and sad enough, God knows, without speaking of it. What\nuse to sigh for that which cannot be? If the good Lord wished us to have a\ncomforter in our old age, doubtless He would send us one. He knows how we\nhave longed and prayed that a child's feet might echo through our house\nonce more: how we have hoped from year to year that one of the\ngrandchildren might return to bless us with his little presence.\" At this\nmoment Prince jumped to his feet with a low bark, and stood trembling,\nwith pointed ears.\n\n\"What dost thou hear, old dog?\" asked the Grandfather carelessly. \"There\nis naught human abroad this night, I warrant you. All wise folk are\nhugging the fire like us. Only those bad spirits of Christmas Eve are\nhowling about for mischief, they say. Best keep away from the door, old\nPrince, lest they nip your toes or bite your nose for spite.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" cried the Grandmother, laying her hand upon his arm. \"You forget:\nthere is the Other One abroad. It may be that He--\"\n\nShe was interrupted by Prince, who ran eagerly to the door and began\nsniffing at the latch in great excitement. Then he gave a long, low howl.\nAt the same moment the latch rattled, and the Viauds distinctly heard a\nlittle voice cry, \"Open, open, good people!\"\n\nThe old couple looked at each other; the cheeks of one flushed, and the\nother's paled. At the same moment they rose stiffly from their chairs by\nthe fire. But Grandmother Bettine was first at the door. She lifted the\nlatch, the door blew open violently, and with a loud bark Prince dashed\nout into the storm.\n\n\"What is it? Who is there?\" cried Josef Viaud, peering over his wife's\nshoulder. But no one answered save the rough storm, which fiercely blew\ninto the faces of the old couple, whirling and screaming about their\nheads. \"H'm! It was only a fancy,\" muttered the old man. \"Come in, Mother.\nCome, Prince!\" and he whistled out into the storm. But the wind whistled\ntoo, drowning his voice, and Prince did not return. \"He is gone!\" cried\nJosef impatiently. \"It is some evil spirit's work.\"\n\n\"Nay, Father!\" and, as she spoke, the door banged violently in Josef's\nface, as if to emphasize the good wife's rebuke. \"It was a little child; I\nheard it,\" insisted Bettine, as they staggered back to the fire and sank\nweakly into their chairs. \"Perhaps it was the Holy Child Himself, who\nknows? But why would He not enter? Why, Josef! Oh, I fear we were not good\nenough!\"\n\n\"I only know that we have perhaps lost our good dog. Why did you open the\ndoor, Bettine?\" grumbled Josef sleepily.\n\n\"Prince is not lost. For what was he bred a snow-dog upon the mountains if\na storm like this be danger to him? He is of the race that rescues, that\nfinds and is never lost. Mayhap the Holy Child had work for him this\nnight. Ah, the Little One! If I could but have seen Him for one moment!\"\nAnd good Bettine's head nodded drowsily on her chair-back. Presently the\nold couple were fast asleep.\n\nNow when they had been dreaming strange things for some time, there came a\nscratching at the door, and a loud bark which woke them suddenly.\n\n\"What was that?\" exclaimed Grandfather, starting nervously. \"Ho, Prince!\nAre you without there?\" and he ran to the door, while Grandmother was\nstill rubbing from her eyes the happy dream which had made them\nmoist,--the dream of a rosy, radiant Child who was to be the care and\ncomfort of a lonely cottage. And then, before she had fairly wakened\nfrom the dream, Prince bounded into the room and laid before the fire at\nher feet a soft, snow-wrapped bundle, from which hung a pale little face\nwith golden hair.\n\n\"It is the Child of my dream!\" cried Bettine. \"The Holy One has come back\nto us.\"\n\n\"Nay, this is no dream-child, mother. This is a little human fellow,\nnearly frozen to death,\" exclaimed Josef Viaud, pulling the bundle toward\nthe fire. \"Come, Bettine, let us take off his snow-stiff clothes and get\nsome little garments from the chests yonder. I will give him a draught of\nsomething warm, and rub the life into his poor little hands and feet. We\nhave both been dreaming, it seems. But certainly this is no dream!\"\n\n\"Look! The dove!\" cried Grandmother, taking the bird from the child's\nbosom, where it still nestled, warm and warming. \"Josef! I believe it is\nindeed the Holy Child Himself,\" she whispered. \"He bears a dove in his\nbosom, like the image in the Church.\" But even as she spoke the dove\nfluttered in her fingers, then, with a gentle \"Coo-roo!\" whirled once\nabout the little chamber and darted out at the door, which they had\nforgotten quite to close. With that the child opened his eyes.\n\n\"The dove is gone!\" he cried. \"Yet I am warm. Why--has the little Stranger\ncome once more?\" Then he saw the kind old faces bent over him, and felt\nPrince's warm kisses on his hands and cheeks, with the fire flickering\npleasantly beyond.\n\n\"It is like coming home again!\" he murmured, and with his head on\nBettine's shoulder dropped comfortably to sleep.\n\nOn the morrow all the village went to see the image of the Christ Child\nlying in a manger near the high altar of the church. It was a sweet little\nChild in a white shirt, clasping in his hands a dove. They believed him to\nhave come in the stormy night down the village street. And they were glad\nthat their pious candles in the windows had guided Him safely on the road.\nBut little Pierre, while he sang in the choir, and his adopted parents,\nthe Viauds, kneeling happily below, had sweet thoughts of a dream which\nhad brought them all together.\n\nWho knows but that Prince at home happily guarding Pierre's snow-wet old\nshoes--who knows but that Prince was dreaming the happiest dream of all?\nFor only Prince knew how and where and under what guidance he had found\nthe little friend of the Lord's friends sleeping in the snow, with but a\nwhite dove in his bosom to keep him from becoming a boy of ice.\n\n\nWHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO\n\nCOUNT LYOF N. TOLSTO\u00cf\n\n\nIn a certain city dwelt Martin Avdyeeich, the cobbler. He lived in a\ncellar, a wretched little hole with a single window. The window looked up\ntowards the street, and through it Martin could just see the passers-by.\nIt is true that he could see little more than their boots, but Martin\nAvdyeeich could read a man's character by his boots, so he needed no more.\nMartin Avdyeeich had lived long in that one place, and had many\nacquaintances. Few indeed were the boots in that neighborhood which had\nnot passed through his hands at some time or other. On some he would\nfasten new soles, to others he would give side-pieces, others again he\nwould stitch all round, and even give them new uppers if need be. And\noften he saw his own handiwork through the window. There was always lots\nof work for him, for Avdyeeich's hand was cunning and his leather good;\nnor did he overcharge, and he always kept his word. He always engaged to\ndo a job by a fixed time if he could; but if he could not, he said so at\nonce, and deceived no man. So every one knew Avdyeeich, and he had no lack\nof work. Avdyeeich had always been a pretty good man, but as he grew old\nhe began to think more about his soul, and draw nearer to his God. While\nMartin was still a journeyman his wife had died; but his wife had left him\na little boy--three years old. Their other children had not lived. All the\neldest had died early. Martin wished at first to send his little child\ninto the country to his sister, but afterwards he thought better of it.\n\"My Kapitoshka,\" thought he, \"will feel miserable in a strange household.\nHe shall stay here with me.\" And so Avdyeeich left his master, and took to\nliving in lodgings alone with his little son. But God did not give\nAvdyeeich happiness in his children. No sooner had the little one begun to\ngrow up and be a help and a joy to his father's heart, than a sickness\nfell upon Kapitoshka, the little one took to his bed, lay there in a\nraging fever for a week, and then died. Martin buried his son in\ndespair--so desperate was he that he began to murmur against God. Such\ndisgust of life overcame him that he more than once begged God that he\nmight die; and he reproached God for taking not him, an old man, but his\ndarling, his only son, instead. And after that Avdyeeich left off going\nto church.\n\nAnd lo! one day, there came to Avdyeeich from the Troitsa Monastery, an\naged peasant-pilgrim--it was already the eighth year of his pilgrimage.\nAvdyeeich fell a-talking with him and began to complain of his great\nsorrow. \"As for living any longer, thou man of God,\" said he, \"I desire it\nnot. Would only that I might die! That is my sole prayer to God. I am now\na man who has no hope.\"\n\nAnd the old man said to him: \"Thy speech, Martin, is not good. How shall\nwe judge the doings of God? God's judgments are not our thoughts. God\nwilled that thy son shouldst die, but that thou shouldst live. Therefore\n'twas the best thing both for him and for thee. It is because thou wouldst\nfain have lived for thy own delight that thou dost now despair.\"\n\n\"But what then _is_ a man to live for?\" asked Avdyeeich.\n\nAnd the old man answered: \"For God, Martin! He gave thee life, and for Him\ntherefore must thou live. When thou dost begin to live for Him, thou wilt\ngrieve about nothing more, and all things will come easy to thee.\"\n\nMartin was silent for a moment, and then he said: \"And how must one live\nfor God?\"\n\n\"Christ hath shown us the way. Thou knowest thy letters. Buy the Gospels\nand read; there thou wilt find out how to live for God. There everything\nis explained.\"\n\nThese words made the heart of Avdyeeich burn within him, and he went the\nsame day and bought for himself a New Testament printed in very large\ntype, and began to read.\n\nAvdyeeich set out with the determination to read it only on holidays; but\nas he read, it did his heart so much good that he took to reading it every\nday. And the second time he read until all the kerosene in the lamp had\nburnt itself out, and for all that he could not tear himself away from the\nbook. And so it was every evening. And the more he read, the more clearly\nhe understood what God wanted of him, and how it behooved him to live for\nGod; and his heart grew lighter and lighter continually. Formerly,\nwhenever he lay down to sleep he would only sigh and groan, and think of\nnothing but Kapitoshka, but now he would only say to himself: \"Glory to\nThee! Glory to Thee, O Lord! Thy will be done!\"\n\nHenceforth the whole life of Avdyeeich was changed. Formerly, whenever he\nhad a holiday, he would go to the tavern to drink tea, nor would he say no\nto a drop of brandy now and again. He would tipple with his comrades, and\nthough not actually drunk, would, for all that, leave the inn a bit merry,\nbabbling nonsense and talking loudly and censoriously. He had done with\nall that now. His life became quiet and joyful. With the morning light he\nsat down to his work, worked out his time, then took down his lamp from\nthe hook, placed it on the table, took down his book from the shelf, bent\nover it, and sat him down to read. And the more he read the more he\nunderstood, and his heart grew brighter and happier.\n\nIt happened once that Martin was up reading till very late. He was reading\nSt. Luke's Gospel. He was reading the sixth chapter, and as he read he\ncame to the words: \"And to him that smiteth thee on the one cheek, offer\nalso the other.\" This passage he read several times, and presently he came\nto that place where the Lord says: \"And why call ye me Lord, Lord, and do\nnot the things which I say? Whosoever cometh to Me, and heareth My\nsayings, and doeth them, I will show you to whom he is like. He is like a\nman which built an house, and dug deep, and laid the foundations on a\nrock. And when the flood arose, the storm beat vehemently upon that house,\nand could not shake it, for it was founded upon a rock. But he that\nheareth, and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an\nhouse upon the earth, against which the stream did beat vehemently, and\nimmediately it fell, and the ruin of that house was great.\"\n\nAvdyeeich read these words through and through, and his heart was glad. He\ntook off his glasses, laid them on the book, rested his elbow on the\ntable, and fell a-thinking. And he began to measure his own life by these\nwords. And he thought to himself, \"Is my house built on the rock or on the\nsand? How good to be as on a rock! How easy it all seems to thee sitting\nalone here. It seems as if thou wert doing God's will to the full, and so\nthou takest no heed and fallest away again. And yet thou wouldst go on\nstriving, for so it is good for thee. O Lord, help me!\" Thus thought he,\nand would have laid him down, but it was a grief to tear himself away from\nthe book. And so he began reading the seventh chapter. He read all about\nthe Centurion, he read all about the Widow's Son, he read all about the\nanswer to the disciples of St. John; and so he came to that place where\nthe rich Pharisee invites our Lord to be his guest. And he read all about\nhow the woman who was a sinner anointed His feet and washed them with her\ntears, and how He justified her. And so he came at last to the forty-fourth\nverse, and there he read these words, \"And He turned to the woman and\nsaid to Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou\ngavest Me no water for My feet; but she has washed My feet with tears and\nwiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest Me no kiss, but this\nwoman, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss My feet. Mine\nhead with oil thou didst not anoint.\"\n\nAnd again Avdyeeich took off his glasses, and laid them on the book, and\nfell a-thinking.\n\n\"So it is quite plain that I too have something of the Pharisee about me.\nAm I not always thinking of myself? Am I not always thinking of drinking\ntea, and keeping myself as warm and cozy as possible, without thinking at\nall about the guest? Simon thought about himself, but did not give the\nslightest thought to his guest. But who was the guest? The Lord Himself.\nAnd suppose He were to come to me, should I treat Him as the Pharisee\ndid?\"\n\nAnd Avdyeeich leaned both his elbows on the table and, without perceiving\nit, fell a-dozing.\n\n\"Martin!\"--it was as though the voice of some one close to his ear.\n\nMartin started up from his nap. \"Who's there?\"\n\nHe turned round, he gazed at the door, but there was no one. Again he\ndozed off. Suddenly he heard quite plainly, \"Martin, Martin, I say! Look\nto-morrow into the street. I am coming.\"\n\nMartin awoke, rose from his chair, and began to rub his eyes. And he did\nnot know himself  whether he had heard these words asleep or awake. He\nturned down the lamp and laid him down to rest.\n\nAt dawn next day, Avdyeeich arose, prayed to God, lit his stove, got ready\nhis gruel and cabbage soup, filled his samovar, put on his apron, and sat\nhim down by his window to work. There Avdyeeich sits and works, and thinks\nof nothing but the things of yesternight. His thoughts were divided. He\nthought at one time that he must have gone off dozing, and then again he\nthought he really must have heard that voice. It might have been so,\nthought he.\n\nMartin sits at the window and looks as much at his window as at his work,\nand whenever a strange pair of boots passes by he bends forward and looks\nout of the window, so as to see the face as well as the feet of the\npassers-by. The house porter passed by in new felt boots, the\nwater-carrier passed by, and after that there passed close to the window\nan old soldier, one of Nicholas's veterans, in tattered old boots, with a\nshovel in his hands. Avdyeeich knew him by his boots. The old fellow was\ncalled Stepanuich, and lived with the neighboring shopkeeper, who\nharbored him of his charity. His duty was to help the porter. Stepanuich\nstopped before Avdyeeich's window to sweep away the snow. Avdyeeich cast a\nglance at him, and then went on working as before.\n\n\"I'm not growing sager as I grow older,\" thought Avdyeeich, with some\nself-contempt. \"I make up my mind that Christ is coming to me, and lo!\n'tis only Stepanuich clearing away the snow. Thou simpleton, thou! thou\nart wool-gathering!\" Then Avdyeeich made ten more stitches, and then he\nstretched his head once more towards the window. He looked through the\nwindow again, and there he saw that Stepanuich had placed the shovel\nagainst the wall, and was warming himself and taking breath a bit.\n\n\"The old man is very much broken,\" thought Avdyeeich to himself. \"It is\nquite plain that he has scarcely strength enough to scrape away the snow.\nSuppose I make him drink a little tea! the samovar, too, is just on the\nboil.\" Avdyeeich put down his awl, got up, placed the samovar on the\ntable, put some tea in it, and tapped on the window with his fingers.\nStepanuich turned round and came to the window. Avdyeeich beckoned to him,\nand then went and opened the door.\n\n\"Come in and warm yourself a bit,\" cried he. \"You're a bit chilled, eh?\"\n\n\"Christ requite you! Yes, and all my bones ache too,\" said Stepanuich.\nStepanuich came in, shook off the snow, and began to wipe his feet so as\nnot to soil the floor, but he tottered sadly.\n\n\"Don't trouble about wiping your feet. I'll rub it off myself. It's all in\nthe day's work. Come in and sit down,\" said Avdyeeich. \"Here, take a cup\nof tea.\"\n\nAnd Avdyeeich filled two cups, and gave one to his guest, and he poured\nhis own tea out into the saucer and began to blow it.\n\nStepanuich drank his cup, turned it upside down, put a gnawed crust on the\ntop of it, and said, \"Thank you.\" But it was quite plain that he wanted to\nbe asked to have some more.\n\n\"Have a drop more. Do!\" said Avdyeeich, and poured out fresh cups for his\nguest and himself, and as Avdyeeich drank his cup, he could not help\nglancing at the window from time to time.\n\n\"Dost thou expect any one?\" asked his guest.\n\n\"Do I expect any one? Well, honestly, I hardly know. I am expecting and I\nam not expecting, and there's a word which has burnt itself right into my\nheart. Whether it was a vision or no, I know not. Look now, my brother! I\nwas reading yesterday about our little Father Christ, how He suffered, how\nHe came on earth. Hast thou heard of Him, eh?\"\n\n\"I have heard, I have heard,\" replied Stepanuich, \"but we poor ignorant\nones know not our letters.\"\n\n\"Anyhow, I was reading about this very thing--how He came down upon earth.\nI was reading how He went to the Pharisee, and how the Pharisee did not\nmeet Him half-way. That was what I was reading about yesternight, little\nbrother mine. I read that very thing, and bethought me how the Honorable\ndid not receive our little Father Christ honorably. But suppose, I\nthought, if He came to one like me--would I receive Him? Simon at any rate\ndid not receive Him at all. Thus I thought, and so thinking, fell asleep.\nI fell asleep, I say, little brother mine, and I heard my name called. I\nstarted up. A voice was whispering at my very ear. 'Look out to-morrow!' it\nsaid, 'I am coming.' And so it befell twice. Now look! wouldst thou\nbelieve it? the idea stuck to me--I scold myself for my folly, and yet I\nlook for Him, our little Father Christ!\"\n\nStepanuich shook his head and said nothing, but he drank his cup dry and\nput it aside. Then Avdyeeich took up the cup and filled it again.\n\n\"Drink some more. 'Twill do thee good. Now it seems to me that when our\nlittle Father went about on earth, He despised no one, but sought unto the\nsimple folk most of all. He was always among the simple folk. Those\ndisciples of His too, He chose most of them from amongst our\nbrother-laborers, sinners like unto us. He that exalteth himself, He says,\nshall be abased, and he that abaseth himself shall be exalted. Ye, says He,\ncall me Lord, and I, says He, wash your feet. He who would be the first\namong you, He says, let him become the servant of all. And therefore it is\nthat He says, Blessed are the lowly, the peacemakers, the humble, and the\nlong-suffering.\"\n\nStepanuich forgot his tea. He was an old man, soft-hearted, and tearful.\nHe sat and listened, and the tears rolled down his cheeks.\n\n\"Come, drink a little more,\" said Avdyeeich. But Stepanuich crossed\nhimself, expressed his thanks, pushed away his cup, and got up.\n\n\"I thank thee, Martin Avdyeeich. I have fared well at thy hands, and thou\nhast refreshed me both in body and soul.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt show me a kindness by coming again. I am so glad to have a\nguest,\" said Avdyeeich. Stepanuich departed, and Martin poured out the\nlast drop of tea, drank it, washed up, and again sat down by the window to\nwork--he had some back-stitching to do. He stitched and stitched, and now\nand then cast glances at the window--he was looking for Christ, and could\nthink of nothing but Him and His works. And the divers sayings of Christ\nwere in his head all the time.\n\nTwo soldiers passed by, one in regimental boots, the other in boots of\nhis own making; after that, the owner of the next house passed by in\nnicely brushed goloshes. A baker with a basket also passed by. All these\npassed by in turn, and then there came alongside the window a woman in\nworsted stockings and rustic shoes, and as she was passing by she\nstopped short in front of the partition wall. Avdyeeich looked up at her\nfrom his window, and he saw that the woman was a stranger and poorly\nclad, and that she had a little child with her. She was leaning up\nagainst the wall with her back to the wind, and tried to wrap the child\nup, but she had nothing to wrap it up with. The woman wore summer\nclothes, and thin enough they were. And from out of his corner Avdyeeich\nheard the child crying and the woman trying to comfort it, but she could\nnot. Then Avdyeeich got up, went out of the door and on to the steps,\nand cried, \"My good woman! My good woman!\"\n\nThe woman heard him and turned round. \"Why dost thou stand out in the\ncold there with the child? Come inside! In the warm room thou wilt be\nbetter able to tend him. This way!\"\n\nThe woman was amazed. What she saw was an old fellow in an apron and\nwith glasses on his nose calling to her. She came towards him. They went\ndown the steps together--they went into the room. The old man led the\nwoman to the bed. \"There,\" said he, \"sit down, gossip, nearer to the\nstove, and warm and feed thy little one....\"\n\nHe went to the table, got some bread and a dish, opened the oven door,\nput some cabbage soup into the dish, took out a pot of gruel, but it was\nnot quite ready, so he put some cabbage soup only into the dish, and\nplaced it on the table. Then he fetched bread, took down the cloth from\nthe hook, and spread it on the table.\n\n\"Sit down and have something to eat, gossip,\" said he, \"and I will sit\ndown a little with the youngster. I have had children of my own, and\nknow how to manage them.\" The woman crossed herself, sat down at the\ntable, and began to eat, and Avdyeeich sat down on the bed with the\nchild. Avdyeeich smacked his lips at him again and again, but his lack\nof teeth made it a clumsy joke at best. And all the time the child never\nleft off shrieking. Then Avdyeeich hit upon the idea of shaking his\nfinger at him, so he snapped his fingers up and down, backwards and\nforwards, right in front of the child's mouth. He did not put his finger\ninto its mouth, because his finger was black and sticky with cobbler's\nwax. And the child stared at the finger and was silent, and presently it\nbegan to laugh. And Avdyeeich was delighted. But the woman went on\neating, and told him who she was and whence she came.\n\n\"I am a soldier's wife,\" she said: \"my eight months' husband they drove\nright away from me, and nothing has been heard of him since. I took a\ncook's place till I became a mother. They could not keep me _and_ the\nchild. It is now three months since I have been drifting about without\nany fixed resting-place. I have eaten away my all. I wanted to be a\nwet-nurse, but people wouldn't have me: 'Thou art too thin,' they said.\nI have just been to the merchant's wife where our grandmother lives, and\nthere they promised to take me in. I thought it was all right, but she\ntold me to come again in a week. But she lives a long way off. I am\nchilled to death, and he is quite tired out. But God be praised! our\nlandlady has compassion on us, and gives us shelter for Christ's sake.\nBut for that I don't know how we could live through it all.\"\n\nAvdyeeich sighed, and said, \"And have you no warm clothes?\"\n\n\"Ah, kind friend! this is indeed warm-clothes time, but yesterday I\npawned away my last shawl for two _grivenki_.\"\n\nThe woman went to the bed and took up the child, but Avdyeeich stood up,\nwent to the wall cupboard, rummaged about a bit, and then brought back\nwith him an old jacket.\n\n\"Look!\" said he, \"'tis a shabby thing, 'tis true, but it will do to wrap\nup in.\"\n\nThe woman looked at the old jacket, then she gazed at the old man, and,\ntaking the jacket, fell a-weeping. Avdyeeich also turned away, crept\nunder the bed, drew out a trunk and seemed to be very busy about it,\nwhereupon he again sat down opposite the woman.\n\nThen the woman said: \"Christ requite thee, dear little father! It is\nplain that it was He who sent me by thy window. When I first came out it\nwas warm, and now it has turned very cold. And He it was, little father,\nwho made thee look out of the window and have compassion on wretched\nme.\"\n\nAvdyeeich smiled slightly, and said: \"Yes, He must have done it, for I\nlooked not out of the window in vain, dear gossip!\"\n\nAnd Avdyeeich told his dream to the soldier's wife also, and how he had\nheard a voice promising that the Lord should come to him that day.\n\n\"All things are possible,\" said the woman. Then she rose up, put on the\njacket, wrapped it round her little one, and then began to curtsey and\nthank Avdyeeich once more.\n\n\"Take this for Christ's sake,\" said Avdyeeich, giving her a two-grivenka\npiece, \"and redeem your shawl.\" The woman crossed herself, Avdyeeich\ncrossed himself, and then he led the woman to the door.\n\nThe woman went away. Avdyeeich ate up the remainder of the cabbage soup,\nwashed up, and again sat down to work. He worked on and on, but he did\nnot forget the window, and whenever the window was darkened he\nimmediately looked up to see who was passing. Acquaintances passed,\nstrangers passed, but there was no one in particular.\n\nBut now Avdyeeich sees how, right in front of his window, an old woman,\na huckster, has taken her stand. She carries a basket of apples. Not\nmany now remained; she had evidently sold them nearly all. Across her\nshoulder she carried a sack full of shavings. She must have picked them\nup near some new building, and was taking them home with her. It was\nplain that the sack was straining her shoulder. She wanted to shift it\non to the other shoulder, so she rested the sack on the pavement, placed\nthe apple-basket on a small post, and set about shaking down the\nshavings in the sack. Now while she was shaking down the sack, an urchin\nin a ragged cap suddenly turned up, goodness knows from whence, grabbed\nat one of the apples in the basket, and would have made off with it, but\nthe wary old woman turned quickly round and gripped the youth by the\nsleeve. The lad fought and tried to tear himself loose, but the old\nwoman seized him with both hands, knocked his hat off, and tugged hard\nat his hair. The lad howled, and the old woman reviled him. Avdyeeich\ndid not stop to put away his awl, but pitched it on the floor, rushed\ninto the courtyard, and in his haste stumbled on the steps and dropped\nhis glasses. Avdyeeich ran out into the street. The old woman was\ntugging at the lad's hair and wanted to drag him off to the police,\nwhile the boy fought and kicked.\n\n\"I didn't take it,\" said he. \"What are you whacking me for? Let me go!\"\n\nAvdyeeich came up and tried to part them. He seized the lad by the arm\nand said: \"Let him go, little mother! Forgive him for Christ's sake!\"\n\n\"I'll forgive him so that he shan't forget the taste of fresh\nbirch-rods. I mean to take the rascal to the police station.\" Avdyeeich\nbegan to entreat with the old woman.\n\n\"Let him go, little mother; he will not do so any more. Let him go for\nChrist's sake.\"\n\nThe old woman let him go. The lad would have bolted, but Avdyeeich held\nhim fast.\n\n\"Beg the little mother's pardon,\" said he, \"and don't do such things any\nmore. I saw thee take them.\"\n\nThen the lad began to cry and beg pardon.\n\n\"Well, that's all right! And now, there's an apple for thee.\" And\nAvdyeeich took one out of the basket and gave it to the boy. \"I'll pay\nthee for it, little mother,\" he said to the old woman.\n\n\"Thou wilt ruin them that way, the blackguards,\" said the old woman. \"If\nI had the rewarding of him, he should not be able to sit down for a\nweek.\"\n\n\"Oh, little mother, little mother!\" cried Avdyeeich, \"that is our way of\nlooking at things, but it is not God's way. If we ought to be whipped so\nfor the sake of one apple, what do we deserve for our sins!\"\n\nThe old woman was silent.\n\nAnd Avdyeeich told the old woman about the parable of the master who\nforgave his servant a very great debt, and how that servant immediately\nwent out and caught his fellow-servant by the throat because he was his\ndebtor. The old woman listened to the end, and the lad listened too.\n\n\"God bade us forgive,\" said Avdyeeich, \"otherwise He will not forgive\nus. We must forgive every one, especially the thoughtless.\"\n\nThe old woman shook her head and sighed.\n\n\"That's all very well,\" she said, \"but they are spoiled enough already.\"\n\n\"Then it is for us old people to teach them better,\" said Avdyeeich.\n\n\"So say I,\" replied the old woman. \"I had seven of them at one time, and\nnow I have but a single daughter left.\" And the old woman began telling\nhim where and how she lived with her daughter, and how many\ngrandchildren she had. \"I'm not what I was,\" she said, \"but I work all I\ncan. I am sorry for my grandchildren, and good children they are, too.\nNo one is so glad to see me as they are. Little Aksyutka will go to none\nbut me. 'Grandma dear! darling grandma!'\" and the old woman was melted\nto tears. \"As for him,\" she added, pointing to the lad, \"boys will be\nboys, I suppose. Well, God be with him!\"\n\nNow just as the old woman was about to hoist the sack on to her\nshoulder, the lad rushed forward and said:\n\n\"Give it here, and I'll carry it for thee, granny! It is all in my way.\"\n\nThe old woman shook her head, but she did put the sack on the lad's\nshoulder.\n\nAnd so they trudged down the street together side by side. And the old\nwoman forgot to ask Avdyeeich for the money for the apple. Avdyeeich\nkept standing and looking after them, and heard how they talked to each\nother, as they went, about all sorts of things. Avdyeeich followed them\nwith his eyes till they were out of sight, then he turned homewards and\nfound his glasses on the steps (they were not broken), picked up his\nawl, and sat down to work again. He worked away for a little while, but\nsoon he was scarcely able to distinguish the stitches, and he saw the\nlamplighter going round to light the lamps. \"I see it is time to light\nup,\" thought he, so he trimmed his little lamp, lighted it, and again\nsat down to work. He finished one boot completely, turned it round and\ninspected it. \"Good!\" he cried. He put away his tools, swept up the\ncuttings, removed the brushes and tips, put away the awl, took down the\nlamp, placed it on the table, and took down the Gospels from the shelf.\nHe wanted to find the passage where he had last evening placed a strip\nof morocco leather by way of a marker, but he lit upon another place.\nAnd just as Avdyeeich opened the Gospel, he recollected his dream of\nyesterday evening. And no sooner did he call it to mind than it seemed\nto him as if some persons were moving about and shuffling with their\nfeet behind him. Avdyeeich glanced round and saw that somebody was\nindeed standing in the dark corner--yes, some one was really there, but\nwho, he could not exactly make out. Then a voice whispered in his ear:\n\n\"Martin! Martin! dost thou not know me?\"\n\n\"Who art thou!\" cried Avdyeeich.\n\n\"'Tis I,\" cried the voice, \"lo, 'tis I!\" And forth from the dark corner\nstepped Stepanuich. He smiled, and it was as though a little cloud were\nbreaking, and he was gone.\n\n\"It is I!\" cried the voice, and forth from the corner stepped a woman with\na little child; and the woman smiled and the child laughed, and they also\ndisappeared.\n\n\"And it is I!\" cried the voice, and the old woman and the lad with the\napple stepped forth, and both of them smiled, and they also disappeared.\n\nAnd the heart of Avdyeeich was glad. He crossed himself, put on his\nglasses, and began to read the Gospels at the place where he had opened\nthem. And at the top of the page He read these words: \"And I was an\nhungered and thirsty, and ye gave Me to drink. I was a stranger and ye\ntook Me in.\"\n\nAnd at the bottom of the page he read this: \"Inasmuch as ye have done it\nto the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.\"\n\nAnd Avdyeeich understood that his dream had not deceived him, and that the\nSaviour had really come to him that day, and he had really received Him.\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nBOOKS\n\nEdited by ELVA S. SMITH\n\nCataloguer of Children's Books, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh\n\nIllustrated Cloth\n\nGOOD OLD STORIES for Boys and Girls\n\nMYSTERY TALES for Boys and Girls\n\nPEACE AND PATRIOTISM\n\nHEROINES OF HISTORY AND LEGEND\n\nMORE MYSTERY TALES for Boys and Girls\n\nA BOOK OF LULLABIES\n\n\nEdited by ELVA S. SMITH and\n\nALICE I. HAZELTINE\n\nSt. Louis Public Library\n\nCHRISTMAS IN LEGEND AND STORY","title":"Christmas in Legend and Story: A Book for Boys and Girls","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":48299}