{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14606/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14606","id":"gutenberg_14606","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14606","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children's Fiction","Christmas","Christmas stories"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 14606-h.htm or 14606-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/6/0/14606/14606-h/14606-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/6/0/14606/14606-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nAND THUS HE CAME\n\nA Christmas Fantasy\n\nby\n\nCYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY\n\nPictures by Walter B. Everett\n\nG.P. Putnam's Sons\nNew York and London\nThe Knickerbocker Press\n\n1916\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"No, No,\" said the woman, \"I can't go with you now.\"]\n\n\n\nTo the Beloved Memory\nof\nLittle Betty\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n       I.--THE BABY\n      II.--THE CHILD\n     III.--THE FRIEND\n      IV.--THE WORKMAN\n       V.--THE COMFORTER\n      VI.--THE BURDEN BEARER\n     VII.--THE THORN CROWNED\n    VIII.--THE BROKEN-HEARTED\n      IX.--THE FORGIVER OF SINS\n       X.--THE GIVER OF LIFE\n      XI.--THE STILLER OF THE STORM\n\n\n\n\nIllustrations\n\n   \"NO, NO,\" SAID THE WOMAN, \"I CAN'T GO WITH YOU NOW\" (Frontispiece)\n\n   AFTER A TIME SHE FELL DOWN ON HER KNEES. SHE PRESSED THEM AGAINST\n   HER FACE\n\n   SHE LAID HER HAND UPON THE KNOB OF THE CHURCH DOOR\n\n   \"IT IS HE,\" WHISPERED THE PRIEST; \"HIS SORROW WAS GREATER THAN MINE\"\n\n   ABSOLVO TE\n\n   THE CRY FOR BREAD\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nThe Baby\n\n\"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM\"\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nThe Baby\n\n\nThe heavy perfume of rare blossoms, the wild strains of mad music, the\npatter of flying feet, the murmur of speech, the ring of laughter,\nfilled the great hall. Now and again a pair of dancers, peculiarly\ngraceful and particularly daring, held the center of the floor for a\nmoment while the room rang with applause.\n\nInto alcoves, screened and flower-decked, couples wandered. In the\ndancing-space hands were clasped, bosoms rose and fell, hearts throbbed,\npulses beat, and moving bodies kept time to rhythmic sound.\n\nSuddenly the music stopped, the conversation ceased, the laughter died\naway. Almost, as it were, poised in the air, the dancers stood amazed.\nOne looked to another in surprise. Something stole throughout the room\nwhich was neither music, nor lights, nor fragrance, but which was\nlife--a presence!\n\n\"Do you see that child?\" asked the wildest of the dancers of her escort.\n\"There,\" she pointed. \"He looks like a very little boy.\"\n\n\"I see nothing,\" said the man, who still held her in the clasp of his\narm.\n\n\"He is strangely dressed, although I see him indistinctly, vaguely,\"\nwhispered the woman. \"He wears a long white robe and there is a kind of\nlight about his face. See, he is looking at us.\"\n\n\"I see nothing,\" repeated the man in low tones. \"The heat, the light,\nthe music, have disturbed you; let me get you--\"\n\n\"I want nothing,\" interposed the woman, waving the man aside and drawing\naway from his arm. \"Don't you see him, there?\"\n\nShe made a step toward the center of the room. She stopped, put her\nhand to her head.\n\n\"Why, he is gone,\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Good,\" said the man, while at that instant the room suddenly rang with\ncries: \"Go on with the music, the dance is not half over.\" He extended\nhis arm to the woman again. \"Our dance is not finished.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" she said as the flying feet once more twinkled across the\npolished floor, as everybody took a long breath and a new start\napparently unconscious of the pause.\n\n\"It is over for me. What I saw!\"\n\n\"What did you see?\"\n\n\"I don't know, but I'm going back home to my child. Good-night.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYes, the music had stopped suddenly. The man in the farthest alcove\nturned to his companion. They were hidden by a group of palms.\n\n\"I wonder why?\" queried the woman. She was deathly pale. Her eyes were\ndark with fear, yet alight with passionate determination.\n\n\"When it begins,\" said the man tenderly, \"we will slip away. My car is\noutside. Everything is ready.\"\n\n\"That is my husband over there,\" said the woman.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the man, \"he won't trouble you any more.\"\n\n\"That woman with him is leaving him,\" she said. \"I wonder why.\" She\nturned suddenly with a great start. \"There is somebody here,\" she\nwhispered, staring into the back of the alcove.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said the man, throwing a glance around the recess. \"There's\nnobody here but you and I. We are alone together, as we shall be\nhereafter, when we have taken the step.\"\n\n\"But that child,\" whispered the woman, \"with his strange vesture and\nhis wonderful face. His eyes look at me so.\"\n\n\"There is no child there, my dear,\" urged the man; \"you are overwrought,\nexcited, nervous. The music starts. Let us go.\"\n\nHe stretched out his hand to the woman, but as he came nearer she shrank\nback with her own hand on her heart.\n\n\"Oh,\" she said faintly, \"he's gone.\"\n\n\"Of course he's gone,\" he answered soothingly. \"Now is our time to get\naway. Let me--\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the woman. \"I can't go with you now. It wouldn't be\nright.\"\n\n\"But you knew that before,\" pleaded the man. \"Besides--\"\n\n\"Yes, but I can't do it. He was there! His eyes spoke--I--don't touch\nme,\" she said; \"I'm going back to my husband. Don't follow.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nThe Child\n\n\n\n\n\"SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nThe Child\n\n\nThe employees had all gone home, carrying with them Christmas checks and\nhearty greetings from the great man whose beck and nod they followed. He\nsat in his private office absolutely alone. He had some serious matters\nto consider and did not want any interruptions. His balance-sheet for\nthe year had been made up according to the custom of the firm before\nChristmas instead of on New Year's Day. He examined it again. It showed\ntremendous profit. The mills were turning out quantities of material,\nthe demand for which was greater and the cost of production less than\never before.\n\n\"I tell you,\" said the man to himself, \"it was a master-stroke to\ndisplace the men with children in the mills. They have reduced the cost\nby four fifths. War has made the prices go up. This is not wealth, it is\nriches beyond calculation.\"\n\nHe picked up a letter, read it over. It was a proposal from the\nsuperintendent to clear more land, to build more buildings, to install\nmore machines, to employ more children and increase the profits greatly.\n\n\"I'll do it,\" said the man. \"We can crush opposition absolutely. I'll\ncontrol the markets of the world. I'll build a fortune upon this\nfoundation so great that no one can comprehend it.\"\n\nHe stopped, leaned back in his chair, lifted his eyes up toward the\nceiling of the room and saw beyond it the kingdoms of this world and the\nmeans unlimited to make him lord and master. He gave no thought to the\nfoundations, only to the structure erected by his fancy. How long he\nindulged in dreams he scarcely realized, but presently he put his hands\non the arms of the chair and started to rise, saying,\n\n\"I'll telegraph the superintendent to go ahead.\"\n\nHe had scarcely formulated the words when right in front of him, seated\non his desk, he saw a young lad regarding him intently. He stopped,\npetrified, in the position he had assumed.\n\n\"How did you get in? What are you doing here?\" he asked. There was no\nanswer. \"Come,\" said the man, shrinking back. \"I can't imagine how you\ngot in here. If my people had not all gone I should hold them to strict\naccount. As it is, you--\"\n\nThe room was suddenly filled with people. They came crowding through the\nwalls from every side and pressed close to him. Such people he had never\nseen: wan, worn, stunted, pinched, starved, joyless. They were all\nchildren, meagerly clothed, badly nourished, ill developed. They were\nquite silent. They did not cry. They did not protest. They did not\nargue. They did not plead. They did not laugh. They just looked at him.\nThey made no sound of any sort. He had children of his own and he had\nknown many children. He had never known so many gathered together\nwithout a smile or a laugh.\n\nHis eye wandered around the room. They were very close to him and yet\nthey did not touch him. He turned to the desk where the lad had sat, but\nhe was no longer there and yet he well remembered his face. He knew\nexactly how he looked. He turned to the nearest child and in some\nstrange way, although the poor, wretched face had not changed, his look\nsuggested the lad who had been his first visitor. He turned to another\nand another. They all looked back at him in the same way with the same\neyes.\n\nHe threw his head up again and saw the castle of success of which he had\ndreamed. He looked down again. This was the foundation. Slowly his hand\nwent to the desk. The little crowding figures drew back to give him\nfreedom of movement as he stretched his hand out for a telegraph-blank.\nHe drew it to him. He seized a pen and wrote rapidly:\n\n\"Build no more mills, take the children out of those already in\noperation, put men in their places. We will be content with less profit\nin the future.\"\n\nHe read over the telegram. The telephone was close at hand. He called up\nthe telegraph-office, dictated it and directed it to be sent\nimmediately. He had been so engrossed in this task that he had noticed\nnothing else. Now he looked up. The room was still filled with children,\nbut they were all laughing. It was a soundless laugh, and yet he heard\nit. And then the room was empty save for the child he had seen first and\nvaguely. He had just time to catch a smile from his lips and then he,\ntoo, was gone as silently and as strangely as he had appeared.\n\nWas it a dream? No, there was the telegram in his hand! Had he sent it?\nAgain he called up the office on the telephone.\n\n\"Did you get a message from me just a minute ago?\"\n\n\"Yes, do you want to recall it?\"\n\nThe man thought a second.\n\n\"No,\" he said quietly--was it to himself or to his vanished\nvisitors?--\"let it go. Merry Christmas.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThe Friend\n\n\n\n\n\"INASMUCH AS YE HAVE DONE IT UNTO ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY\nBRETHREN\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThe Friend\n\n\n\"Is the story of the Christ Child true, Mommy?\" quivered one little,\nthin voice.\n\n\"Yes, they told us it was over at the mission Sunday-school,\" said the\nlittlest child.\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" answered the mother. \"God ain't never done much\nfor me.\"\n\n\"It's Christmas eve, ain't it?\" asked the boy, climbing up on the thin\nknees of the threadbare woman and nestling his thin face against a\nthinner breast which the rags scarcely covered decently.\n\n\"Yes, it's Christmas eve.\"\n\n\"And that's the day He came, ain't it?\" urged the oldest girl.\n\n\"They say so.\"\n\n\"Don't you believe it, Mommy?\"\n\n\"I used to believe it when I was a girl. I believed it before your\nfather died, but now--\"\n\n\"Don't you believe it now?\" repeated the first child.\n\n\"How can I believe it? You're old enough to understand. That's the last\nscuttle of coal we got. We ate the last bit of bread for supper\nto-night.\"\n\n\"They say,\" put in the little boy, \"that if you hang up your stockings,\nSanta Claus'll fill 'em, 'cause of the Christ Child.\"\n\n\"Don't you believe it, Sonny,\" said the mother desperately.\n\n\"I'm going to hang up mine and see,\" said the littlest girl.\n\n\"He's got too many other children to look after,\" said the woman, \"to\ncare for the likes of us, I'm afraid, and--\"\n\n\"But my Sunday-school teacher said He came to poor people special. He\nwas awful poor Himself. Why, He was born in a stable. That's awful poor,\nain't it?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"When I was a girl,\" answered the mother, \"I lived on a farm and we had\na stable there that was a palace to this hole we live in now. No, you'd\nbetter not hang up your stockings, none of you.\"\n\n\"And you don't believe in Him, Mommy?\"\n\n\"No. What would be the use if you hung 'em up and didn't find anything\nin 'em in the morning?\"\n\n\"It'd be awful, but I believe in Him,\" said the littlest girl. \"I don't\nthink God has forgot us, really. I'm going to try.\"\n\n\"I tell you 'tain't no use.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, it is.\"\n\n\"I'm sure it ain't. But have it your own way,\" said the woman. \"If\nsomeone would fill your stockings with milk and bread and--\"\n\n\"I want a turkey,\" said the oldest girl.\n\n\"And cranberry sauce,\" added the boy.\n\n\"I want a doll-baby in mine,\" said the littlest girl.\n\nThe mother hid her face and groaned aloud.\n\n\"You ain't sick, are you, Mommy?\"\n\n\"I guess so. Come, you'd better say your prayers and go to bed. We don't\nhave to keep the fire going so hard when you're all covered up.\"\n\nIt did not take long for the three little youngsters to divest\nthemselves of the rags of clothing they wore. They slept in what passed\nfor their underclothes, so there was no donning of white gowns for the\nnight.\n\n\"Here are our stockings, Mommy,\" said the oldest, handing three ragged,\nalmost footless, black stockings to the woman.\n\n\"It's no use, I tell you. I can't do it.\"\n\n\"It won't do any harm, Mommy,\" urged the girl.\n\n\"Do you believe in it, too?\" asked the mother, and the girl shook her\nhead. \"You won't be disappointed in the morning if there's nothing in\n'em?\"\n\n\"No, I suppose it will be because Santa Claus was too busy.\"\n\nWith nervous fingers the woman hung the three stockings near the window.\nShe was hungry, she was cold, she was broken, she was a mother. She\ncould scarcely keep from crying.\n\n\"Maybe you'll be glad you did it,\" said the littlest girl drowsily.\n\n\"Ain't you comin' to bed, too, Mommy?\" asked the oldest, beneath the\ncovers over the mattress on the floor.\n\n\"In a little while.\"\n\n\"And you won't forget to say your prayers?\"\n\n\"I ain't said 'em for months, ever since your father was killed, and we\ngot so poor.\"\n\n\"But you'll say 'em to-night 'cause it's Christmas eve?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-night,\" said the mother; \"now you go to sleep.\"\n\n\"Are you waitin' for him to come, Mommy?\" asked the littlest girl, who\nwas very sleepy.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the mother.\n\nPresently, as she sat in the dark, having turned out the light, the deep\nbreathing of the children told her they were asleep. She rose quietly,\nstepped to the window, and stood looking at the three shapeless,\ntattered stockings. She was high up in the tenement and the moonlight\ncame softly over the house roofs of the city into the bare, cold,\ncheerless room. She stared at the stockings and tears streamed down her\nwasted cheeks. She had hung them low at the suggestion of the littlest\ngirl so the children could easily get at them in the morning.\n\n[Illustration: She pressed them against her face.]\n\nAfter a time she fell down on her knees. She pressed them against her\nface. She did not say anything. She could scarcely think anything. She\njust knelt there until something gently drew her head around. She\ndropped the stockings. She put her right hand on the window-ledge to\nsteady herself and looked backward.\n\nNo sound save the breathing of the children and her own stifled sobs had\nbroken the silence; the door was shut, but a man was there, a man of\nstrange vesture seen dimly in the moon's radiance, yet there was a kind\nof light about his face. She could see his features. They were those of\na man in middle years. They were lined with care. He had seen life on\nits seamy side. The woman felt that he had known poverty and loneliness.\nShe stared up at him.\n\n\"I didn't believe,\" she whispered; \"it cannot be. I thought we were\nforgotten.\"\n\nThe man slowly raised his hand. The moonlight struck fair upon it. She\nsaw that it was calloused, the hand of a man who toiled. It was extended\nover her head. There was no bodily touch, but her head bent low down\nuntil she rested it upon her hands upon the floor. When she looked up,\nthe room was empty. There was no sound save the breathing of the\nchildren and the throb of her own heart which beat wildly in the fearful\nhollow of her ear.\n\nShe heard a sound of strange footsteps outside the door. There was a\ncrackle as of paper, the soft sound of things laid upon the floor, a\ngentle rapping on the panels, a light laugh, a rustle of draperies,\nfootsteps moving away. As in a dream she got to her feet, she knew not\nhow. She opened the door.\n\nThe hall was dimly illuminated. Her feet struck a little heap of\njoy-bringing parcels. She leaned back against the door-jamb, her hand\nto her heart, trembling. What could it mean?\n\nA tiny voice broke the silence. It was the littlest girl turning over in\nher sleep, murmuring incoherently and then clearly:\n\n\"If you only believe, that's enough; if you only believe.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe Workman\n\n\"IS NOT THIS THE CARPENTER?\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe Workman\n\n\nIn the mean squalid room back of the saloon half a score of men were\nassembled. They were all young in years, in other things not youthful.\nSome of them lounged against the wall. Some sat at tables. All were\ndrinking. The air was foul with smoke and reeked with the odor of vile\nliquor.\n\n\"We've got two jobs on hand to-night,\" said the leader of the gang.\n\"There's a crib to be cracked an' a guy to be croaked. Red, you an'\nGypsie an' the Gunney will crack the crib. It's dead easy. Only an old\nman an' his wife. The servants are out except one an' he's fixed. I'll\ngive you the layout presently. The other job's harder. Kid, I'll put you\nin charge, an' as it's got to be done early to-night I'll give you the\norders now. He'll be at The Montmorency at ten o'clock. Someone will\ncall him out to the street.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Never mind who. You'll be there in the car.\"\n\n\"Whose car?\"\n\n\"Never mind whose. Why're you askin' so many questions? It'll take you\nan' the four to The Montmorency at ten o'clock. When he comes out every\none of you let go, the whole bunch, understand. If they don't find five\nbullets in him there'll be trouble to-morrow.\"\n\n\"What do we get out of it?\"\n\n\"A hundred apiece fer you an' a hundred an' fifty fer me fer engineerin'\nthe job. Christmas money! You get me?\"\n\n\"Of course. How'll we know who we've got to shoot?\"\n\n\"I'll be there myself on the sidewalk. I'll point him out to you.\"\n\n\"The police?\"\n\n\"They're fixed.\"\n\n\"Easy enough,\" said the Kid, the youngest of the gang.\n\n\"Well, you guys,\" said the leader pointing out four of the men, \"will go\nwith the Kid. The car'll be at the door in half an hour.\"\n\n\"Now, gimme my orders,\" said Red.\n\nThe gang leader scribbled something on a bit of paper.\n\n\"You go to that number with these two guys between midnight an' two in\nthe mornin'. You'll find a back winder open. Here's the combination of\nthe safe. The silver'll be in that.\"\n\n\"Jewels?\"\n\n\"In a wall cabinet upstairs. It'll be unlocked.\"\n\n\"An' if they make any noise?\"\n\n\"Croak 'em, of course. But don't make no noise doin' it. Better use a\nblackjack. We're not sure about the cop on that beat.\"\n\n\"I understand.\"\n\n\"Well, git your gats and make ready. Before we go, the drinks'll be on\nme. Fill up, men,\" he added, first pouring himself a liberal glassful,\n\"an' here's to bringin' it off easy.\"\n\nWith deep relish the toast was drunk by all save Red and the Kid. Red\nset his glass down on the table. The Kid dropped his to the floor.\n\n\"There's somebody else in the room,\" whispered Red.\n\n\"Yes, yonder by the door,\" said the Kid. \"You c'n jest see him.\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool,\" said the gang leader. \"There's nobody here but us.\"\n\n\"He's wearin' strange clothes,\" said Red.\n\n\"He looks like a carpenter by his kit o' tools,\" said the Kid.\n\n\"Here, pull yourselves together, men,\" said the gang leader; \"you're\ndippy, there's nobody here. Where's your nerve?\"\n\nBut Red made no move to obey. He thrust his glass from him and rose and\nleaned over the table staring. The other men shrank back glancing at the\ntwo figures, for the Kid had also dashed the proffered glass aside.\n\n\"I see him,\" he said, \"he's lookin' at me, he's lookin' through me.\"\n\nIn his excitement he took a step forward and the table went over with a\ncrash. The two men passed their hands over their eyes in bewilderment.\n\n\"Why, there ain't nobody here,\" said the Kid.\n\n\"But I seen him I tell you,\" persisted Red.\n\n\"And so did I.\"\n\n\"Well, he's gone, whoever he was, accordin' to your own showin',\" said\nthe gang leader contemptuously. \"Now brace up. Take your liquor. Get a\nmove on youse.\"\n\n\"Not me,\" exclaimed Red suddenly.\n\n\"Nor me,\" said the Kid.\n\n\"What d'ye mean?\"\n\n\"I won't do it.\"\n\n\"Neither will I.\"\n\nBoth men moved to the door. The gang leader sprang to intercept them,\nhis arms upraised, his hands clenched.\n\n\"Lemme pass,\" said Red.\n\n\"Are you goin' to give us away?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Red. \"But you don't rob no house, an' you don't kill no\nman to-night.\"\n\n\"You all know what that means,\" cried the leader. \"Here you men grab\n'em.\"\n\nBut the rest of the gang hung back.\n\n\"Mebbe they did see somethin',\" said one.\n\n\"You cowardly dogs,\" cried the leader.\n\n\"We won't mention no names to nobody,\" said the Kid, \"but you can't\npull them jobs off. We'll jest warn 'em.\"\n\n\"You swore you'd be true to the gang, that you'd obey orders an' follow\ndirections.\"\n\n\"We won't give ye away but I'm goin' to quit the gang an' go to work,\"\nsaid Red.\n\n\"Me too,\" said the Kid.\n\n\"Work! Hell!\" exclaimed the gang leader, but they shoved him out of the\nway and went out of the door.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nComforter\n\n\n\n\n\"NEITHER DO I CONDEMN THEE\"\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nThe Comforter\n\n\nShe was a daughter of shame. Even inexperience could see that as she\nwandered up and down the streets of the town, desperate, impelled to go\non by a force too strong for her to resist. She trod the pavement, yet\nloathed the necessity and hated herself for her compliance. She had only\nto look forward to the jail or the hospital; yet there was always the\nriver. Had it come to that? Was there nothing else?\n\nShe lifted her eyes from the stone walk as hard as the heart of the\nworld, and found herself opposite a brightly lighted building. She\nleaned against the door. From within came the sound of music, the\nstrains of a hymn, words of prayer. The light streamed about her face\nfrom the stained window. This was a Church of God. Stained window,\nstained woman, confronting each other in the night!\n\nThere was no God for her. There might have been once, but she had\ncommitted the unpardonable sin against society and society was God.\nThere was no place for her anywhere, save the jail or the hospital or\nthe river. That last was the best. The street was deserted. She had\nthought it not a good place in which to ply her trade! She made a step\nforward and stopped.\n\nIn her pathway stood a figure seen dimly in the darkness. It stood in\nthe shadow beyond the broad light from the painted window. There was\nsomething strangely familiar about it. She glanced up at that window.\nHad the figure there stepped down and embodied itself vaguely on the\nwalk before her?\n\n[Illustration: She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door.]\n\nWhat was this strange figure? Who was he? As she stared, the outline\ndrew nearer. A man vested in long white draperies confronted her. He was\nbareheaded and appeared insensible to the cold in which she shivered.\nShe put out her hand and something folded it back upon her breast. She\nopened her lips and something sealed them.\n\nAs she watched, the figure slowly moved. It bent forward and went slowly\ndown on its knees on the sidewalk. The white hand began to trace\nstrange, mysterious, unknown, incomprehensible characters upon the\npavement. She watched with bated breath, some memory of another sinful\nwoman of whom she had heard in childhood coming back to her prostrate\nmind. Yes, and there behind the figure stood others, hateful and hating,\nvery violent, passionate men. She stared from the handwriting in the\ndust to these others and they faded away. She was alone with the\nkneeling figure and, as she looked, it too vanished in the chill air.\n\nShe bent over the pavement. There was nothing there, yet she had\nreceived a message. After a last glance she turned away, new courage,\nnew life, new hope in her heart.\n\nShe mounted the steps, she laid her hand upon the knob of the church\ndoor, she turned it and went bravely within.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nThe Burden Bearer\n\n\"HE, BEARING HIS CROSS, WENT FORTH\"\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nThe Burden Bearer\n\n\nThe sound of the running feet of the man smashing through the burned\nstubble ceased abruptly. He stopped at the threshold of the door. No\nfriendly bark of dog welcomed him. From the barn there came no gentle\nlowing of cattle, no homely clucking of chickens. Like the house the\nbyre too had been ruined, gutted with flame.\n\nThe soldier whose march had brought him back to his own village that\nnight stood in the entrance of what had been his home and stared at the\nsmoking walls, the charred roof gaping to the sky, the empty casements.\nThe enemy had been there. He whispered his young wife's name, he called\nsoftly to the baby, as if they might be sleeping somewhere within the\ndevastated house. He listened for a reply but none came. Perhaps he\nwould have been thankful even for a groan or a cry of agony, anything\nthat meant life. But all was silence within, without.\n\nYonder on the winding road at the foot of the hill he could hear the\ntrampling of men, the groaning of wheels, the clank of iron cavalrymen,\nthe jingling of bits and swords, sharp words of command. The army was\nadvancing. He could delay no longer. He must get back to his place in\nthe ranks. Summoning his courage he crossed the threshold and stepped\ninto the vacant emptiness of the house. Everything was gone but the four\nstone walls. There were unrecognizable heaps of ashes here and there. He\nbent over them fearfully in the twilight wondering whether the\nshapeless, formless masses were--\n\nSomething caught his eye. The one thing intact apparently. He stooped\nover it. It was the baby's shoe--white, it had been originally. He\nremembered it. Now it was stained with blood. That was all that was\nleft--a little baby's shoe, blood spotted. He pressed it to his heart\nand groaned aloud. A spasm of mortal anguish shook his frame. He lifted\nhis clenched hand toward the sky overshadowing the roofless walls.\n\nNow he suddenly became aware that he was not alone. There was someone\nelse in the room. He saw vaguely, indistinctly, a figure strangely clad,\nstaggering on with bended back as if under some crushing load. He stared\nin the twilight striving to concentrate his faculties. The figure passed\nby. On its back was a shadowy something--beams of wood roughly crossed,\nhe decided. It raised its head and looked at him. The face was somehow\nlighter than the rest.\n\nThe man's arm fell. The room was empty after all. He stared at the\nlittle shoe. Was it somewhere well with the child, with its mother?\nUnbuttoning his tunic he thrust the little shoe within, over his heart.\nHe straightened up. Away off on the road a bugle call rang out above the\ntumult. He turned away, seized his rifle, shouldered it, stepped rapidly\ntoward his regiment and his duty.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nThe Thorn Crowned\n\n\"THE SOLDIERS PLATTED A CROWN OF THORNS AND PUT IT ON HIS HEAD\"\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nThe Thorn Crowned\n\n\nIt was ghastly cold in the ruined church. It had been warm enough there\nduring the day, but the fire that had gutted it had died like the young\nacolyte, like the aged sacristan, the venerable mother, the sweet young\nnovice, the women who had sought shelter there in vain. Neither the\ndignity of age nor the sweetness of maidenhood nor the innocence of\nyouth nor the sanctity of profession had availed.\n\nThe old priest was glad they were dead. Life after what they had\nsuffered had been unthinkable. He thanked God for that oblivion. He\nwished that he, too, might die in that violated shrine where he had\npeacefully ministered for so long a time. They had taken the flock, the\nshepherd must follow. He should have led.\n\nHe had fought, oh, he had played the man for the honor of the poor lambs\ncommitted to him. Had he done right? Should he not have stood dumb\nbefore the shearers? They had shot him and stabbed him and beaten him\ninto insensibility. The last thing he had heard was the shriek of one\nwoman, the piteous appeal of another. They thought he was dead, but he\nwas living. Why had he not died?\n\nHow could God be so cruel? This was war. This ruined sanctuary, these\nbroken men and women who had sought only to serve Him! Was there a God\nindeed? Faith, hope, what were they? Assurance, trust? Words, words! Ah,\nhow he suffered.\n\n[Illustration: \"It is He,\" whispered the priest. \"His sorrow was\ngreater than mine.\"]\n\nIt was bitter cold and yet he burned with fever. The tremors of pain so\nexquisite that they might almost be counted pleasure shot through his\nruined, torn, broken figure, yet he recked little of these. It was the\nshame, the shame. He had been zealous for the Lord of Hosts. There was\nno God. Men were not made in any image save that of hell. He could not\nmove hand or foot, but he could see. He could speak. He could curse God\nand die.\n\nAs his lips framed that anathema he saw vaguely the figure of a\nstranger; a slender, wasted body, dark stains upon it in the moonlight.\nIt wore some kind of curious headgear. The man stared. The light was\nreflected from the sharp points of long thorns. A cloth was fastened\nabout the loins. The figure stood very straight in the desecrated Holy\nof Holies. A light seemed to come from its face. Its eyes looked at the\nman with great pity. Slowly the figure raised its arms. Slowly the arms\nextended themselves; there were blood-stains in the palms of the hands.\n\n\"It is He,\" whispered the priest. \"His sorrow was greater than mine.\nLord, I believe.\"\n\nHe knew nothing more save that a great peace had suddenly stolen around\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nThe Broken Hearted\n\n\n\n\n\"ONE OF THE SOLDIERS WITH A SPEAR PIERCED HIS SIDE\"\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nThe Broken Hearted\n\n\n\"I'll get that man if I die for it,\" said the soldier. \"He's found the\none position in the lines from which he can fire into our trenches.\"\n\n\"It's easier said than done,\" remarked his comrade, \"and the minute you\ncross that spot you come within his range. He'll put a bullet through\nyou before you can level a rifle or press a trigger.\"\n\n\"I'll not go that way,\" said the man.\n\n\"What is your plan?\"\n\n\"You know that salient yonder on the right? I'm going out of the trench\nthere.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Now. I'll wrap myself in white. That little run of coppice will cover\nme until I get within a few feet of him, then I'll have to chance it.\"\n\n\"Wish I could help you, old man. I'd like to get that man. He's shot six\nof the best fellows in the company and--\"\n\n\"You can help me by making a diversion to attract his attention. Keep\nhim looking at that alley.\"\n\nA few moments later the soldier shrouded in white crept out of the\ntrench and noiselessly rolled down the slope to the bushes. The snow was\ndeep on the ground. There was no touch of color about the soldier. He\neven thrust his rifle under the linen in which he had wrapped himself.\nOutside the shelter of the trenches the wind blew with terrific force.\nIt was terribly cold. He had discarded his overcoat for freedom of\nmotion. Only his indomitable resolution kept him alive. He locked his\njaws together to keep his teeth from chattering. The ice-covered snow\nunder his bare hands almost blistered the flesh as he crept along.\n\nHe intended to use the bayonet. If he shot the man he was stalking alarm\nwould be given and he would be riddled with bullets before he got back.\nHe was willing to give a life for a life if it were necessary, but he\nwas reluctant to do so if it could be avoided. Cold steel would be\nbetter. Cold steel! He smiled grimly. It would need some hot blood to\ntake the chill off the bayonet at the end of his rifle.\n\nSlowly, almost holding his breath lest he be noticed, he edged his way\nalong. He had plenty of time for thought. This was not so easy a job as\nhe had fancied, not the physical part, but the mental strain. He could\nshoot a man who was shooting at him, he could batter a man over the head\nwho was trying to do the same to him, but this stalking a man in cold\nblood was different somehow. Cold blood! He laughed soundlessly at his\nrecurrent fancy. He went a little more slowly. Finally he stopped to\nconsider.\n\nFrom the nook ahead of him in which the enemy had ensconced himself came\na sudden rapid rattle of rifle-shots. His friend back in the trench was\ndoing his part. The man was awake--on the alert. It would be something\nof a fair fight, he thought with some little satisfaction. He surveyed\nthe intervening space beyond the coppice. The men in the trenches on\nboth sides would be awake, too. It would take him a few seconds to cross\nthat space and get at the man he was stalking. Could they shoot him\nbefore that? There was some shelter where the enemy was. If the stalker\ncould get to that spot he would be protected for a moment from fire from\nthe enemy's trench.\n\nIt would take him a second or two to cross that space. In a second or\ntwo what might happen? Well, he would have to risk that. At the very\nend of the coppice he gathered himself together and rose slowly to a\ncrouching position. Another rain of shots came from the nook; the man's\nrifle would be empty, he must give him no chance to reload. Now it would\nbe a fair fight with the bayonet.\n\nHe threw aside the white draperies that impeded his legs and in half a\ndozen bounds the two men were face to face.\n\nNo shot had been fired. Yes, the magazine of the man's rifle was empty.\nHe heard the crunch of his enemy's feet on the snow. He rose to his\nfeet, his bayoneted rifle extended. The two barrels struck with terrific\nforce. The men swayed, drew back for another thrust, and they were\nsuddenly aware of a mist-like figure between them, a figure draped in\nwhite, lightly, diaphanously.\n\nThey stood arrested, guns drawn back, and stared. The figure slowly\nextended its arm, carrying drapery with it. A man's breast was bared.\nThere, over the heart, was a great gaping wound, fresh, as if a broad,\nheavy blade had pierced it.\n\nThere was a clatter on the ice as a gun dropped and another clatter as a\nsimilar weapon struck the stone opposite. The two men bent forward,\ntheir hands outstretched. They took a step as if to touch the figure and\nthere was nothing there! The hands met. They clasped warmly in the cold\nagainst each other.\n\n\"My God, what was that?\" said the stalker.\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered the other.\n\n\"A pierced side!\"\n\n\"Was it--\"\n\n\"No. It couldn't be.\"\n\n\"Well, we worship the same God and--\"\n\nAh, they were seen. There were quick words of command from the\ntrenches, a staccato of rifle-shots, and two bodies lay side by side,\nhands still clasped, while the snow reddened and reddened beneath them.\n\nAnd it was Christmas eve.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nThe Forgiver of Sins\n\n\n\n\n\"I SAY UNTO THEE UNTIL SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN\"\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nThe Forgiver of Sins\n\n\n\"A Priest, for Christ's sake, a priest,\" moaned the man.\n\nA white-faced sister of charity upon whom had developed the appalling\ntask of caring for the long rows of wounded at the dressing station\nbefore they were entrained and sent south to the hospital, hovered over\nthe stretcher.\n\n\"My poor man,\" she whispered, \"there is no priest here.\"\n\n\"I can't die without confession--absolution,\" was the answer. \"A priest,\nget me a priest.\"\n\nNext to and almost touching the cot on which the speaker writhed in his\ndeath agony lay another man apparently in a profound stupor. He wore\nthe uniform of a private soldier and his eyes were bandaged. His face\nhad been torn to pieces by shrapnel, fragments of which had blinded him.\nAt that instant he came out of that stupor. Perhaps the familiar words\nrecalled him to himself. He moved his hand slightly. The sister saw his\nlips tremble. She bent low.\n\n\"Who seeks confession, absolution?\" he whispered. \"I am a priest.\"\n\n\"You are wounded, dying, father.\"\n\n\"How can I die better than shriving a fellow sinner?\"\n\nThat was true. The heroic woman turned to the man who still kept up his\nmonotonous appeal.\n\n\"The man next to you,\" she said, \"dying like you, is a priest.\"\n\n\"Father,\" cried the first man with sudden strength. \"I must confess\nbefore I die.\"\n\n\"Lift me up,\" said the priest.\n\nThe woman slipped her arm about his shoulders and raised him.\n\n\"The sister?\" began the other.\n\n\"I shall be blind and deaf,\" said the woman.\n\n\"Speak on,\" whispered the priest.\n\n\"I have been a great sinner--there isn't time to confess all.\"\n\n\"What is heaviest upon your soul, my son?\"\n\n\"A woman's fate.\"\n\n\"Ah.\"\n\n\"There were two who loved her--a dozen years ago--she preferred me--I\ntook her away.\"\n\n\"Did you marry her?\"\n\n\"No. And then we quarreled--I deserted her. When I came to seek her she\nwas gone--young, innocent, penniless, alone in Paris--I have sought her\nand never found her.\"\n\n\"What is your name?\" asked the priest suddenly with a fierce note in\nhis quivering voice.\n\n\"Father, can I be forgiven?\" answered the man giving his name.\n\nThe dying soldier stared anxiously up at his bandaged comrade, at the\nnun who had hid her face behind the shoulder of the priest. He noticed\nthat her body was shaking.\n\n\"And the woman's name?\"\n\nThe priest suddenly sat upright. He shook off the sister's restraining\nhand. He tore the bandage from his own face. He bent over the dying man\nas he murmured the woman's name.\n\n\"Wretch,\" he cried, \"look at me.\"\n\nHis face was gashed and cut and torn but something remained by which the\nother recognized him.\n\n\"You!\" he cried shrinking away.\n\n\"I loved her, too,\" said the priest. \"I would have married her. When\nshe went away with you Holy Church received me.\"\n\n\"Mercy,\" cried the soldier uplifting his hand.\n\n\"What mercy did you show her?\"\n\nThe priest could not see but he could feel. His hand seized the other's\nthroat.\n\n\"My father,\" interposed the nun. \"He has confessed. God will forgive,\neven as I.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked the blind priest, fearfully.\n\n\"The woman!\" cried the dying man shaking off the other's hand and\nlifting himself up.\n\nThe sight came back to the priest on the instant. The fierce agony that\nfilled his blinded eyes seemed to give place to the gentle touch of a\nhand upon them. He seemed to hear a mighty word--_Ephphatha_--that meant\n\"be opened.\" Light flooded his soul. Looking up he was aware of two\nfigures. One of the twain, an old man, gray bearded, was appealing to\nthe other, clad in white raiment and youthful. And the priest suddenly\nrecalled an old and well-known story of a fellow servant who would not\nhave mercy.\n\n\"Father, forgive--\" whispered the man before him.\n\nAs the voice of the dying sinner died away in the silence all was dark\nagain. The priest saw no more, but the horrible pain in his eyes did not\nreturn. Over his torn features came a look of calm. He lifted his arm.\nHis wavering hand cut the air in the sign of the cross.\n\n\"_Absolvo te_,\" he murmured as he pitched forward dead upon the breast\nof the dying.\n\nAnd the woman tenderly covered them over.\n\n[Illustration: _Absolvo te._]\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nThe Giver of Life\n\n\"HE THAT EATETH OF THIS BREAD SHALL LIVE FOREVER\"\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nThe Giver of Life\n\n\nOf the five specters in the boat three were without life. Those whose\nfaint breathing indicated that they had not yet reached the point of\ndeath were too weak and indifferent to rid the boat of the bodies of the\nothers. Ever since the homeward-bound whaler had struck a derelict in a\ngale of wind north of the Falklands and foundered, this little boat,\nsurviving the shipwreck as by a miracle, had drifted on.\n\nFor three weeks in vain they had scanned the horizon for a sail. Their\nscanty supply of bread and water had been consumed in ten days.\nThereafter they had nothing. The baby had died first, next a man whose\narm had been broken by a falling spar in the disaster, and then the\nship's cabin boy. The survivors were a man and a woman. They were both\nfar gone. The woman was plainly dying. The man kept himself up by sheer\nexercise of will.\n\nTheir drifting had been northward toward warmer seas. It was winter in\ntheir home land and, though they knew it not, Christmas day. There the\ntropic sun blazed overhead from an absolutely cloudless sky. There was\nno vestige of breeze to stir the canvas of the solitary sail or ripple\nthe glassy surface of the smoothed out ocean. The boat lay still. Not\neven the iron man at the helm could have lifted an oar. It had been dead\ncalm for days. Speech there was none except in the gravest necessity. To\ntalk connectedly was impossible.\n\nAfter scanning the horizon for the thousandth time the man's burning\neyes sought those of the woman at his feet. He was astonished to find\nthem open. Her mouth was working, her parched lips strove to form words.\nHe dropped the tiller which his hand had grasped mechanically, and which\nwas useless since there was no way on the boat, and bent his head lower.\nSome sudden recrudescence of strength which the dying sometimes receive\ncame to the woman.\n\n\"Death,\" she whispered. \"Glad.\" She turned her head slightly and saw the\nform of the child. \"The Baby--and--I--together.\"\n\nThe man nodded. Tenderly he laid his hot wasted hand on the woman's\nfevered brow.\n\n\"A priest,\" she said, looking up at him uncomprehendingly.\n\nShe was evidently going fast yet she knew what she wanted although she\nwas not conscious that she craved the impossible. It would appear that\nshe had been a good churchwoman. The man could only stare. He was no\npriest, only a rough sailor.\n\n\"A priest,\" said the woman more clearly. \"I want--a priest--the\nsacrament.\" By some nervous convulsive effort she lifted her arms up\ntoward him beseeching, appealing. There was another kind of agony in her\nvoice that had not been present when she had moaned for water in the\ndays before.\n\n\"The sacrament,\" she insisted, \"I die.\"\n\nThe man looked away. Hard by the boat where there had been but a waste\nof sea rose a green island. A stretch of pleasant meadow met his eyes.\nIt was so close to him that if he had leaned over the gunwale of the\nboat he could have laid his hand on the lush grass. Dumbly he wondered\nwhere it had been before, how he had come upon it so suddenly, why he\nhad not seen it hours ago.\n\nIn front of him were hundreds of people, men, women, and children, plain\npeople in strange simple garb, the like of which he had never seen. In\nfront of these people and with their backs toward him stood a little\ngroup of men, in the center a figure in white garments. A lad offered\nsomething in a basket.\n\nThe man watched, amazed, awe-stricken, yet with a strange peace in his\nsoul. He made no movement to gain the shore. He only looked and looked.\nThe white-robed figure bent over the basket. He lifted from it a crude\nrough loaf of bread. He raised his eyes to heaven, his lips moved. He\nbroke the bread and gave it.\n\nAs the sailor watched the island disappeared as suddenly as it had come.\nThe scene changed. Now he looked into a low room, dimly lighted with\nstrange lamps. Through an open window he saw the stars. The few men that\nhad stood about the man in the grassy meadow were alone with him in that\nupper chamber reclining about a table. The man lifted from the board a\ncup of silver. He blessed it and gave it. The fragrance of wine came to\nthe watcher.\n\nHe rubbed his eyes and looked again and before him spread the smooth\nunbroken surface of the monotonous sea. The woman's voice smote his ear\nagain, higher, shriller, with more painful entreaty.\n\n\"A priest--for the love of God--the sacrament,\" she whispered.\n\nThe man tore open the last canvas bread-bag. It was tough material but\nit yielded to his insistence. In the corner there was a single tiny\ncrumb they had overlooked. He lifted it gently with his great hand. He\nheld it up in the air a moment striving to think. He was an English\nsailor and in his boyhood had been a chorister in a great Cathedral. The\nmighty words came back to him. He bent over the woman.\n\n[Illustration: The cry for bread.]\n\n\"Bread,\" he whispered. \"The body--\"\n\nHe shattered the water breaker with his fist. There was a suggestion of\nmoisture on the inside of the staves of the cask. He drew his finger\nacross them and touched it to the woman's lips.\n\n\"Water,\" he said hoarsely. \"The blood--\"\n\nThe terror, the yearning, disappeared from the woman's eyes. She looked\nat the man sanely, gratefully.\n\n\"God bless--\" she faltered and then her lips stiffened.\n\nSome tag of quaint old Scripture that had impressed him when he first\nheard it because of its very strangeness, but of which he had never\nthought in all the years of his rough life since boyhood, came into the\nman's mind now. He lifted his head as if to see again that figure.\n\n\"A priest forever,\" he gasped, \"after the order of Melchis--\"\n\nHe did not finish the word. The woman was dead. He knew now for what he\nhad been kept alive. His task had been performed. He bowed his head in\nhis hands and entered into life eternal with the others.\n\nPresently a little cloud flecked the sky. Out of the south the wind blew\nsoftly. The smooth sea rippled blue and white in the gentle breeze. The\nlittle boat, cradling its dead, rocked gently as it drifted on.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nThe Stiller of the Storm\n\n\n\n\n\"BE OF GOOD CHEER; IT IS I; BE NOT AFRAID\"\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nThe Stiller of the Storm\n\n\n\"It's Christmas eve at home,\" murmured the young lad after he had said\nhis prayers and tumbled into his narrow berth on the great ship. \"I\nsuppose they're trimming the Christmas tree now and hanging up the\nstockings. I wish I were there.\"\n\nHe was very young to serve his country, but not too young according to\nthe standards of mankind to be a midshipman on the great steel monster\nkeeping the leaden deep. It was the first time he had ever been away\nfrom home on Christmas day, too. The youngsters had all laughed and\njoked about it in the steerage mess. They had promised themselves some\nkind of a celebration in the morning, but in his own cot with no one to\nsee, a few tears which he fondly deemed unmanly would come. He had the\nmidnight watch and he knew that he must get some sleep, but it was a\nlong time before he closed his eyes and drifted off to dream of home and\nhis mother.\n\nAthwart that dream came a sudden, frightful, heart-stilling roar of\ndestruction; a hideous crash followed, a terrible rending, breaking,\nsmashing, concatenation of noises, succeeded by frightful detonations,\nas through the gaping hole torn in the great battleship by the deadly\ntorpedo, the water rushed upon the heated boilers, the explosion of\nwhich in turn ignited the magazines. By that deadly underwater thrust of\nthe enemy the battleship was reduced in a few moments to a disjointed,\ndisorganized, sinking mass of shapeless, formless, splintered steel.\n\nAs the explosions ceased, from every point rose shrieks and groans and\ncries of men in the death-agony hurled into eternity and torn like the\nsteel. And then the boy heard the surviving officers coolly, resolutely\ncalling the men to their stations.\n\nHe had been thrown from his berth by the violence of the explosion. His\nface was cut and bleeding where he had struck a near-by stanchion. His\nleft arm hung useless. He had lain dazed on the deck for a few moments\nuntil he heard the orders of his lieutenant. He was one of the signal\nmidshipmen stationed on the signal bridge. Whatever happened that was\nthe place to which to go; he still had a duty to perform.\n\nPicking himself up as best he could, he hurried to report to the\nlieutenant. With such means as were available signals were made. Calls\nfor help? Oh, never! Warnings that the enemy's submarines were in the\nnear vicinity and that other ships should keep away.\n\nThe captain was on the half wrecked bridge above. The boy noticed how\nquiet he was, yet his voice rang over the tumult.\n\n\"Steady, men, steady. Keep your stations. Stand by. Be ready.\"\n\nThe old quartermaster whose business it was to tell the hours saluted\nthe captain.\n\n\"Eight bells, sir,\" he said, \"midnight. Christmas day,\" he added.\n\n\"Strike them,\" said the captain.\n\nAnd, as clear as ever, the four couplets rang out over the chaos and the\ndisaster.\n\n\"Christmas day,\" the boy murmured.\n\n\"She's going, men,\" said the captain, as the cadences died away. \"Save\nyourselves. Abandon the ship.\"\n\n\"Christmas morning,\" said the boy. \"I wonder what they're doing at\nhome.\"\n\n\"Overboard with you, youngster,\" said the signal lieutenant; \"I wish I\nhad a life-preserver for you, but--\"\n\n\"Merry Christmas, sir,\" said the lad suddenly.\n\n\"Good God!\" said the man. \"Merry Christmas! They will think of us at\nhome.\"\n\nWhat was left of the ship gave a mighty reel.\n\n\"Quick or she'll suck you down,\" the officer roared, as he fairly flung\nthe boy into the water,--and how he hurt that broken arm! \"You can swim.\nStrike out. Good-by.\"\n\nThe boy had caught a glimpse of the captain standing on the bridge as\nthe wreck went down and then the wild waters closed over his head. It\nwas frightfully cold. A hard gale was blowing. The waves ran terribly\nhigh. His left arm was helpless. His head ached fiercely. What was the\nuse? Still the boy struck out bravely with his free hand. The instinct\nof life! It was too dark to see. The sky was covered with drifting\nclouds. Only here and there a little rift of moonlight came through.\n\n\"Christmas morning,\" he sobbed out as the waves rolled him over. \"Oh, my\nGod!\"\n\nHe felt himself going down. All at once the waters seemed to grow still.\nIt was suddenly calm. He was no longer cold. He threw his head up for\none last look at the sky and life and then he hung, as it were,\nsuspended in some strange way. He saw a figure walking across the smooth\nof the seas as it had been solid ground. The figure drew nearer, the\nwind seemed to have died away, but the draperies that shrouded it swung\ngently as they would while a man walked along. The face he saw dimly,\nvaguely, but there was light in it somehow. It came slowly nearer.\n\n\"Christmas morning,\" whispered the boy.\n\nThe hand of the figure reached down. It caught the boy's right arm. He\nwas lifted up.\n\n\"Home and Christmas morning,\" whispered the boy, closing his eyes.\n\nThe moonlight broke through a cloud and fell upon him. A wave rolled\nover him and the sea was empty as before.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe that hath eyes to see, let him see!","title":"And Thus He Came: A Christmas Fantasy","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":8912}