{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15552/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15552","id":"gutenberg_15552","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15552","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Christmas","Christmas stories"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Shell, David Garcia and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Christmas Outside of Eden--Book Cover]\n\n[Illustration: There, seated in the entrance to the cave, the Man saw\nthe Woman but not the Woman as he had left her.]\n\n\n\n\nChristmas Outside of Eden\n\nBY\n\nConingsby Dawson\n\nAuthor of \"The Garden Without Walls,\" \"Carry On,\" etc.\n\nILLUSTRATIONS BY\n\nEugene Francis Savage\n\n\n  NEW YORK\n  DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY\n  1922\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n  Copyright, 1921,\n  By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.\n  Printed In U.S.A.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nThere, seated in the entrance to the cave, the Man saw the Woman, but\nnot the Woman as he had left her.\n\nGod had given the Man and Woman no time to pack. He had marched them\nbeyond the walls and locked the golden gates of Eden against them\nforever.\n\nThe Man yawned. \"I am still tired. Fetch the horse, that he may carry me\nback to my dwelling.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nCHRISTMAS OUTSIDE OF EDEN\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThis is the story the robins tell as they huddle beneath the holly on\nthe Eve of Christmas. They have told it every Christmas Eve since the\nworld started. They commenced telling it long before Christ was born,\nfor their memory goes further back than men's. The Christmas which they\ncelebrate began just outside of Eden, within sight of its gold-locked\ndoors.\n\nThe robins have only two stories: one for Christmas and one for Easter.\nTheir Easter story is quite different. It has to do with how they got\nthe splash of red upon their breasts. It was when God's son was hanging\non the cross. They wanted to do something to spare him. They were too\nweak to pull out the nails from his feet and hands; so they tore their\nlittle breasts in plucking the thorns one by one from the crown that had\nbeen set upon his forehead. Since then God has allowed their breasts to\nremain red as a remembrance of His gratitude.\n\nBut their Christmas story happened long before, when they weren't robin\nred-breasts but only robins. It is a merry, tender sort of story.\nThey twitter it in a chuckling fashion to their children. If you prefer\nto hear it first-hand, creep out to the nearest holly-bush on almost\nany Christmas Eve when snow has made the night all pale and shadowy.\nIf the robins have chosen your holly-bush as their rendezvous and you\nunderstand their language, you won't need to read what I have written.\nLike all true stories, it is much better told than read. It's the story\nof the first laugh that was ever heard in earth or heaven. To be enjoyed\nproperly it needs the chuckling twitter of the grown-up robins and the\nsqueaky interruptions of the baby birds asking questions. When they get\nterrifically excited, they jig up and down on the holly-branches and the\nfrozen snow falls with a brittle clatter. Then the mother and father\nbirds say, \"Hush!\" quite suddenly. No one speaks for a full five\nseconds. They huddle closer, listening and holding their breath. That's\nhow the story ought to be heard, after night-fall on Christmas Eve, when\nbehind darkened windows little boys and girls have gone to bed early,\nhaving hung up their very biggest stockings. Of course I can't tell it\nthat way on paper, but I'll do my best to repeat the precise words in\nwhich the robins tell it.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt was very long ago at the beginning of all wonders. Sun, moon and\nstars were new; they wandered about in the clouds uncertainly, calling\nto one another like ships in a fog. It was the same on earth; neither\ntrees, nor rivers, nor animals were quite sure why they had been created\nor what was expected of them. They were terribly afraid of doing wrong\nand they had good reason, for the Man and Woman had done wrong and had\nbeen locked out of Eden.\n\nThat had happened in April, when the world was three months old. Up to\nthat time everything had gone very well. No one had known what fear was.\nNo one had guessed that anything existed outside the walls of Eden or\nthat there was such a thing as wrong-doing. Animals, trees and rivers\nhad lived together with the Man and the Woman in the high-walled garden\nas a happy family. If they had wanted to know anything, they had asked\nthe Man; he had always given them answers, even though he had to invent\nthem. They had never dreamt of doubting him--not even the Woman. The\nreason for this had been God.\n\nEvery afternoon God had come stepping down from the sky to walk with the\nMan through the sun-spangled shadows of the grassy paths. They had heard\nthe kindly rumble of His voice like distant thunder and the little tones\nof the Man as he asked his questions. At six o'clock regularly God had\nshaken hands with the Man and climbed leisurely back up the sky-blue\nstairs that led to Heaven. Because of this the Man had gained a\nreputation among the animals for being wise. They had thought of him as\nGod's friend. He had given orders to everybody--even to the Woman; and\neveryone had been proud to obey him.\n\nIt had been in April the great change had occurred. There had been all\nkinds of rumours. The first that had been suspected had been when God\nhad failed to come for His customary walk; the next had been when He had\narrived with His face hidden in anger. The trees of Eden had bent and\nclashed as if a strong wind were blowing. Everything living that was not\nrooted, had run away to hide. Nevertheless, when God had called to the\nMan, they had tiptoed nearer to listen. The trouble had seemed to be\nabout some fruit. God had told the Man that he must not pluck it; he had\nnot only plucked it, but had eaten of it. So had the Woman. It had\nseemed a small matter to make such a fuss about. They had supposed that\nGod's anger would soon blow over and that everything would be again as\nfriendly as before.\n\n[Illustration: God had given the Man and Woman no time to pack. He had\nmarched them beyond the walls and locked the golden gates of Eden\nagainst them forever.]\n\nAnd so everything might have been had it not been for the Man. Instead\nof saying he was sorry, he had started to argue and blame the Woman. At\nthat God had refused to speak with him longer. He had ordered the Man\nand Woman and all the animals to leave Eden immediately. He had given\nthem no time to pack. Lining them up like soldiers, He had numbered them\nto make certain that none were missing and then, with the Man and Woman\nleading, had marched them beyond the walls and locked the golden gates\nof Eden against them forever.\n\nSince then all had been privation and confusion. The animals, from\nregarding the Man as their lord, had grown to despise him. They had\nblamed him for their misfortunes. They had told him that it was his\nfault that they had lost their happiness and that God walked the earth\nno more. The woman had told him so most particularly. Of all the created\nworld only the dog and the robin had remained faithful to him. The dog\nslept across his feet at night to keep them warm and the robin sang to\nhim each dawn that he should not lose courage.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThrough the world's first summer things had not been so bad, though of\ncourse the wilderness that grew outside of Eden was not so comfortable\nas the garden they had lost. In the garden no one had needed to work:\nfood had grown on the trees to one's hand and, because it was so\nsheltered, the weather had been always pleasant. It hadn't been\nnecessary to wear clothing; it hadn't been necessary to build houses,\nfor it had never rained. Birds hadn't troubled to make nests, nor\nrabbits to dig warrens. Everybody had felt perfectly safe to sleep\nout-of-doors, wherever he happened to find himself, without a thought\nof protection.\n\nHere in the wilderness it was different. There were no paths. The jungle\ngrew up tall and threatening. Thorns leant out to tear one's flesh. If\nit hadn't been for the elephant uprooting trees in his fits of temper,\nno one would have been able to travel anywhere. One by one the animals\nslunk away and began to lead their own lives independently, making lairs\nfor themselves. Every day that went by they avoided the Man and Woman\nmore and more. At first they used to peep out of the thicket to jeer at\ntheir helplessness; soon they learnt to disregard them as if they were\nnot there. From having believed himself to be the wisest of living\ncreatures the Man discovered himself to be the most incompetent. Often\nand often he would creep to the gold-locked gates and peer between the\nbars, hoping to see God walking there as formerly. But God walked no\nmore. As He had climbed back into Heaven, He had destroyed the sky-blue\nstairs behind Him. There was no way in which the Man could reach Him to\nask His advice or pardon.\n\nBut it was the Woman who caused the Man most unhappiness. It wasn't that\nshe despised and blamed him. He'd grown used to that since leaving Eden.\nEverybody, except the dog and the robin, despised and blamed him. The\nWoman caused him unhappiness because she was unwell--really unwell; not\njust an upset stomach or a headache. In Eden she had always been strong\nand beautiful, like sunlight leaping on the smooth, green lawn--so white\nand pink and darting. Her long gold hair had swayed about her like a\nflame; her white arms had parted it as though she were a swimmer. Her\neyes had been shy and merry from dawn to dusk. She had been a darling;\nnever a cross word had she spoken. The furry creatures of the woods had\nbeen her playmates and the birds had perched upon her shoulders to sing\ntheir finest songs.\n\nNow she was wan and thin as a withered branch. Like the elephant\nuprooting trees, she often lost her temper. Sometimes she was sorry for\nher crossness; more often she wasn't. When the Man offered her things to\neat, no matter what trouble he'd taken to get them, she'd say she wasn't\nhungry. And yet he loved her none the less for her perverseness. He was\nso afraid.... He couldn't have told you of what he was afraid, for\nnobody had had time to die in the world as yet. He was filled with dread\nlest, like God, she might vanish and walk the earth no more. So he\ncudgelled his brains to find things to cure her. He invented wrong\nremedies, just as in Eden he had invented wrong answers to the animals'\nquestions. He was never certain whether they would do her good or harm;\nbut he always assured her gravely that, if she'd only try them, she'd\nfeel instantly better. She never did; on the contrary she felt worse\nand worse. Perhaps the wilderness was the cause. Perhaps it was the\nforbidden fruit she had eaten. Perhaps it was a little of both, plus a\ntouch of Eden-sickness. She had never known an hour's ill-health up to\nthe moment when she had eaten the fruit and been turned out of the\ngarden. The poor Man was distracted. He didn't care what he did or whom\nhe robbed, if only he might hear her singing again and see her once more\nsmiling.\n\nWhat he did wasn't tactful; it only made the animals hate him--all\nexcept the dog and the robin--and brought new dangers about his head. It\nwas the month of October and nights were getting shivery. He had scraped\ntogether fallen leaves to make a bed for her and had woven a covering of\nwithered grasses. In spite of this, from the setting of the sun till\nlong after its rising, all through the dark hours her teeth chattered.\nShe cried continually; every time she cried, out in the jungle the hyena\nscoffed. The Man rarely got any rest until full day. All night he was\nrubbing her back, her feet and hands in an effort to make her warm. As\na consequence he slept late and accomplished hardly any work. He didn't\neven have time to notice how all the animals were building houses. The\nWoman was so fretful that he never dared leave her for longer than an\nhour. The poor thing was forever complaining that God might have made\nher out of something better than a rib, if He was going to make her\nat all.\n\nIt was a colder night than usual, when the Woman was crying very\nbitterly and the hyena was doing more than his ordinary share of\nscoffing, that the idea occurred to the Man. The hyena was scoffing\nbecause he was comfortable; he was comfortable because of the heavy coat\nthat he wore. The Man determined to teach him a lesson by taking his\ncoat from him. It was another remedy; he hoped that if he clothed the\nWoman with it, she might grow strong. Telling her that he wouldn't be\ngone for long, he padded stealthily away, followed by the dog, and faded\nout of sight among the shadows.\n\nThey found the hyena in an open space which the elephant had been\nclearing the day before. He was seated on his hind legs, gazing up\nat the moon with his fine warm coat all bristly, scoffing and scoffing.\nHe was far too busy with his ill-natured merriment to hear them coming.\nIn a flash the dog had him by the throat, holding him while the man\nrobbed him of his clothing. When they had stripped him of everything,\neven of his bushy tail, they let him go and he fled naked, howling the\nalarm through the forest. By the time they got back to the Woman all the\nunderbrush was stirring. From every part of the wilderness, in twos and\nthrees, the animals were coming together. The night was alive with their\nglowing eyes; the leaves trembled with their savage muttering.\n\n\"Be quick,\" whispered the Man. \"Put this on.\"\n\nShe dried her tears as she felt the warmth of the fur. \"It's comfy,\" she\nsobbed. \"It fits exactly.\" And then, \"Oh, Man, I'm frightened. What have\nyou done? You gave me a present once before.\"\n\nThe Man was making a club out of a tree. As he stripped it of its\nbranches, he answered boastfully, \"It was I and the dog; we did it\ntogether. You were cold, so we stole the hyena's coat from him. All the\nanimals are angry. They know that we shall do again what we have done\nonce. They feel safe no longer. They say it must be stopped. They want\nto get back the hyena's coat from us.\"\n\n\"And they will, oh, my master,\" the dog interrupted, \"unless we protect\nourselves. Through the wilderness, not many miles from here, a limestone\nridge rises above the forest. In the limestone ridge there is a cave. If\nwe can win our way to it before our enemies come together, we can stand\nin the entrance and guard the Woman.\"\n\nSo the dog ran ahead growling with such fierceness that everything fled\nfrom his path. Behind him came the Man carrying the Woman very closely\nbecause he loved her, and trailing his tremendous club. By dawn, before\ntheir enemies could guess their purpose, they had gained the cave. By\nthe time the animals had held their conference and decreed that the Man\nand the dog must be punished, they had escaped and were ready to defy\nall comers.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nFrom that moment a new and exciting kind of life started. Not an hour\nout of the twenty-four was free from anxiety. Always, whether it was\nday or night, the Man and the dog had to take turns at guarding the\nentrance. The Man gathered piles of stones and learnt how to throw them\nunerringly. The dog trusted to his teeth and the fear which his bark\ninspired. The animals were furiously determined; they never ceased from\nattempting to surprise them. Quite often they would have succeeded, had\nit not been for the robin, who hiding in the bushes, overheard their\nstrategies and flew back to the Man in time with warnings.\n\nThe cave was well chosen. It was approached by a steep and narrow path.\nOnly one enemy could attack at once, so the defenders were always able\nto roll down bowlders on him before he gained a footing. That was how\nthey treated the lion, when he came thrashing his tail and roaring on\nthe first morning to make them prisoners. They gave a rock a big shove\nand knocked him over like a ninepin. He was so hurt in his feelings that\nhe sulked in bed for a week; for many more weeks he was easily tired.\nSeeing that he was the King of the Beasts and the President of their\nConference, this made the animals the more indignant and the more\ndetermined that the Man and the dog must be punished. The next to\nattempt their capture were the elephant and the rhinoceros. They boasted\nthat they weren't afraid of rocks; nevertheless they came together to\nback up each other's courage. Half way up the slope they stuck. They\nwere too heavy for so steep a path. The ground crumbled from under them,\nthe dog worried them, the Man struck them, and away they went, bumping\ndown the hill, rolling over and over. They never stopped till they had\nreached the bottom, where they lay on their backs with their feet in the\nair, grunting and panting like a pair of upturned locomotives.\n\nAt first the Man and the dog regarded the enmity they had aroused in the\nlight of a huge joke; they got a good deal of fun out of fighting. But\nthe sporting side of the affair ceased to appeal to them when they were\ncompelled to recognize the seriousness of their predicament. They were\nabsolutely cut off from supplies at a season when food was running\nshort. They had to sneak out at night at the risk of capture to get\nanything to eat at all. They had a sick woman on their hands who cried\nnot for food, but for delicacies. Instead of gathering strength, she\ngrew steadily weaker. And then there was the matter of sleep; it was as\nscarce as food. They hardly snatched a wink of it. When they weren't on\nguard or fighting, they were soothing her fretfulness, foraging for her\nor thinking up some new method of keeping her warm. It was damp in the\ncave; sunlight rarely tiptoed farther than the entrance. It didn't take\nthem long to discover that the hyena's coat had been as dearly purchased\nas the forbidden fruit that had lost them the garden. Peace, which they\nmight have concluded in the early days, was now entirely out of the\nquestion. Even an offer to return the hyena's coat wouldn't have made\nany impression. They had carried hostilities too far; there wasn't an\nanimal whom they had not wounded and who wasn't mad with them clean\nthrough from the point of his nose to the tip of his tail. Often and\noften, standing in the entrance to his cave, the Man would gaze\nlongingly across the bronzy roof of the forest to the distant shining of\nthe padlocked gates of Eden. He was farther than ever from the garden\nnow with its tranquil blessedness. If only he hadn't learnt to steal!\nStealing had been the cause of his downfall--first the forbidden fruit\nand then the hyena's coat. If he had been less enterprising and more\nobedient, he would still have been the friend of God. After a wakeful\nnight he crept to the entrance to discover that the worst thing of all\nhad happened.\n\n\"A worse thing!\" you exclaim. \"I thought you were going to tell us a\ncheerful Christmas story.\"\n\nAnd so I am: but all the unfortunate part comes first--that's the way\nthe robins tell it. If you'll be patient and read on, you'll find this\nis the very cheerfullest story that was ever told in earth or heaven.\nYou may not have noticed that we've not yet come to the first laugh. The\nWoman has smiled and the hyena has scoffed; but no one has laughed. It's\nwhen we come to the first laugh that the happiness commences.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nThe worst thing of all that the Man discovered when he crept to the\ncave-entrance after a wakeful night, was this: with a terrible stealthy\nsilence snow was drifting down so that even the distant shining of the\ngates of Eden was blotted out. It was frightening; snow had never fallen\nin the world before. If it had, the Man had not seen it. Within the\nwalls of the garden summer had been perpetual. He stood there staring\nout forlornly at the misty sea of shifting whiteness. It chilled him to\nthe bone. It seemed to him that the pillars of the sky had collapsed and\nthe dust of the moon and stars was falling. Soon everything would be\nburied and the world itself would be no more. He looked at the calendar\nwhich he had scratched upon the wall. It was the twenty-fourth day of\nDecember. He wondered whether God knew what was happening and whether\nHe had planned it. Then he gave up wondering, for behind him, from the\nblackness of the cave, the Woman called.\n\n\"Oh, Man,\" she cried, \"I cannot bear this any longer!\"\n\nHe groped his way to her and raised her in his arms so that her head lay\non his breast. Even in the darkness he could see the glow of her hair,\nlike the shadow of flame growing fainter and fainter.\n\n\"My Woman,\" he whispered, \"what can I do for you?\" And again he\nwhispered, \"What can I do for you?\"\n\nShe pressed her face close to his before she answered, petting him the\nway she had been used to do in Eden. \"Do for me? Nothing. You've tried\nwith your remedies--you've tried so hard. Poor you! If we could only\nfind God----\"\n\n\"If we could,\" the Man said, \"but----\"\n\nAnd then they both grew silent, for how could they find God when He had\nclimbed back to Heaven, destroying the sky-blue stairs behind Him?\n\n\"Perhaps, He still walks in Eden.\" It was the Woman who had spoken. \"If\nyou were to go and watch through the bars of Eden till He comes and were\nto call to Him--if you were to tell Him that I cannot bear it any longer\nand that we're sorry, so sorry--that we did it in our ignorance----\"\nWithout ending what she was saying, she fell to sobbing.\n\nHe didn't dare to tell her that the moon and stars were falling and that\nthe gates of Eden were blotted out. From where she lay in the blackness\nof the cave she could see nothing; she was too weak even to crawl to the\nentrance. As he did his best to comfort her, \"If we could only again\nfind God----\" she kept whispering.\n\nSo at last, having ordered the dog to guard her, the Man departed on his\nhopeless errand. It was brave of him. He believed that in trying to find\nGod, he would get so lost that he would never be able to retrace his\nfootsteps. Before he went he kissed the Woman tenderly, begging\nforgiveness for all the misery he had caused her.\n\n\"But I caused it, too,\" she confessed. \"It wasn't your rib that was to\nblame. It wasn't you at all. I wanted the fruit and we ate it together.\"\n\nIt was the first time she had acknowledged it; until then she had\ninsisted that the fault was his solely. So in the moment of farewell she\nrestored to him one little ray of the great, lost sun of flaming\nhappiness.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe air was so thick with falling snow that he was well-nigh stifled.\nHis eyes were blinded as though they were padded with cottonwool. The\nflakes brushed against his cheeks like live things. At his sixth step\nfrom the entrance he had lost his direction. His feet commenced to\nslide; against his will he went avalanching and cavorting down the path.\n\nAt the bottom he lay panting for a time; then, because he was cold he\npicked himself up and went blundering on, not in the least knowing where\nhe was going. Bushes clutched at his feet. Trees slashed across his\nface. He was inclined to weep, but checked himself, remembering that on\none of those sunny afternoon walks God had told him that to cry wasn't\nmanly. \"And I must find God. I must find God,\" he kept repeating to\nhimself. The only way he knew of finding God was by pressing forward.\nGod had once confessed to him, \"The reason I am God is because I show\ncourage.\"\n\n\"Then I'll show courage, too,\" he thought.\n\nPresently he found himself in the heart of the forest and began to\nbreathe more freely. Avenues of giant trees stretched before him, which\ncriss-crossed one another and faded into the gloom of twilit, colonnaded\ntunnels. He could almost feel the gnarled trunks bracing themselves\nand the crooked branches linking arms to bear up the weight of the\ndown-poured roof of whiteness. As his eyes grew accustomed to the\ndimness, he saw the animals strewn flat among fallen leaves, their noses\npressed between their paws, shivering with terror. Overhead birds and\nmonkeys sat in rows, squeezed side by side for companionship, weeping\nsilently. Of a sudden he regained his majesty, being filled with\ncontempt for their cowardice. \"For I am Man,\" he reminded himself, \"so\nlike to God that I could easily be mistaken for Him--and these are the\ncreatures who dared to talk of punishing me.\"\n\nThrowing out his chest, he strode valiantly past them, utterly ignoring\ntheir presence.\n\nFrom behind him a voice called whimperingly. It was the lion's, the King\nof Beasts, squeaky and falsetto with panic. \"Master, thou art wise. What\nhas happened? Tell us.\"\n\nHad he known how, the Man would have laughed. But the laugh comes later\nin the story. Without turning his head, still going away from them he\nanswered. \"It is a punishment for what thou and thy people have done to\nme and my Woman, oh, lion.\"\n\nHe had made the answer up on the spur of the moment; he knew no more\nthan they did what had happened. But he loved inventing and was never\nso content as when he was pretending that he was God.\n\nImmediately they forgot the wrong answers he had given them and how he\nhad deceived them in the past. The leaves rustled as they lifted up\ntheir heads from between their paws. Their voices trembled as one when\nthey besought him, \"Master, stay with us. We are in terror. Make it\nleave off.\"\n\nTurning slowly, he blinked at them through the dimness. Folding his\narms, he regarded them thoughtfully with his legs wide apart. He did it\nas he supposed God might have done it. He spoke at last. \"It's only just\nbegun. Why should I make it leave off?\"\n\n\"Because thou art strong and we are repentant.\"\n\nTheir manner was so humble and adoring that he felt sorry for them.\nThey had begged his pardon in the same words that he had intended to\nbeg God's. And then he was just--the only just creature that God had\ncreated. In his heart he knew that he had merited their revenge--there\nwas scarcely one of them at whom he had not hurled his rocks. He came\nback walking in stately fashion till he stood fearlessly in the centre\nof them. Looking up through the burdened branches at the calamity which\nhe did not understand, he commanded, \"Leave off.\"\n\nTo his immense surprise, on the instant the snow ceased falling. It\nsettled gently like a tired bird into its nest. The serenity of the\nstillness was unbroken.\n\n\"I am hungry,\" he said.\n\nThe animals hurried to their stores of food and waited on him.\n\n\"I have not slept.\"\n\nThe squirrels scraped fallen leaves into a bed, and the bear and the\nwolf stood guard.\n\nWhen he awoke it was a brilliant winter's morning. The sun was\ncharioteering in highest heaven. The forest was white as though\ncotton-wool had blown through it. As far as eye could search, everything\nglittered, sheathed in a film of glass. Snow bulged from branches like\npillows filled to bursting. Icicles hung down like fantastic swords.\nDown the colonnaded avenues trees cast their shadows in heavy bars; the\nspaces between them were golden splashes.\n\n[Illustration: The Man yawned. \"I am still tired. Fetch the horse, that\nhe may carry me back to my dwelling.\"]\n\nThe Man yawned. \"I am still tired. Fetch the horse that he may carry me\nback to my dwelling.\"\n\nHe ordered the horse to be fetched because he had forgotten where his\ncave was. It was clever of him. He did it to keep the animals from\nknowing his ignorance.\n\nThe horse came galloping up obediently. Clutching him by the mane, the\nMan bestrode him. Off they started at a sharp trot, with the animals\nshouting and bounding beside them. As they travelled, the Man could\nhardly keep from smiling at picturing what a fine fellow he was. He made\nno attempt to restrain himself from giving orders. All the time he kept\nurging the animals to shout louder. He wanted the Woman to hear them, so\nthat she might crawl to the entrance of the cave and be a witness of his\ntriumphant home-coming. It wasn't good enough merely to picture himself\nas a fine fellow. He was anxious to hear her say to him, \"Oh, Man, what\na fine fellow you are!\" He'd forgotten completely the purpose of his\nerrand--that he'd set out through the world's first snowstorm in search\nof God.\n\nSo at last they burst forth from the forest and reached the foot of the\nslippery ascent. Because it was so slippery, the Man dismounted; the\nhorse could carry him no further. Having commanded the animals to go on\nshouting for at least half-an-hour, he left them and commenced to climb\nthe steep and narrow path. He had to go gingerly on his hands and knees.\nThere were places where he slipped back two steps for every one he\nadvanced. By snatching at rocks and bushes, he dragged himself slowly to\nthe turning which brought him in sight of the entrance. There, seated in\nthe entrance to the cave, he saw ...\n\nYou must remember that by now it was the twenty-fifth of December.\nTo remember that is most extraordinarily important. What he saw is so\nexciting that it deserves another chapter.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nHe saw the Woman--but not the Woman as he had left her. She was no\nlonger sick. She was completely restored. As in the old days her hair\nclothed her like a flame. Her face parted it into waves as though she\nwere a swimmer. He could see the pink dimples in her knees where she sat\nand the marble whiteness of her feet, which flashed like jewels. She was\nagain the darling who had delighted his heart when she had darted like a\nsunbeam across the shaven lawns of Eden; but now she was ten times more\nradiant.\n\nWhat was it that had changed her? Her tenderness made a golden mist\nabout her which inspired him with awe. He had had precisely this sense\nof sunny quietness when he had walked through those long, still\nafternoons with God.\n\nShe was unaware of him. Her eyes were deep pools of sapphire. She was\nsmiling gently and brooding above something which nestled in her arms.\nHe called to her softly; she paid him no attention. Far below the ridge,\nin obedience to his commands, the animals were still shouting. Was it\nbecause of them that she was smiling? Had the robin flown ahead of him\nto tell her what had happened? The robin was perched on her shoulder,\nfluttering his little wings and singing her his finest song. He called\nto the robin; like the Woman, the robin was too occupied to hear him.\nNo, it wasn't because of him that she was smiling--he felt sure. Then\nwhy was it?\n\nHe gazed back on the dazzling landscape that spread away below him,\nhoping to find something there that would tell him. How transformed it\nwas from the gloomy jungle that had been wont to threaten him! It was\nlike a nest of down. From its farthest edge where Eden lay, a beam of\nglory spanned it with an orange path. It was this beam that made the\ngolden mist about the Woman. To his amazement he saw that Eden's gates\nwere open. Even while he watched they began to close, slowly and slowly,\nwith the beam ever shortening, till at last they were utterly locked and\nbarred.\n\nThe memory of lost happiness overwhelmed him. He turned again to the\nWoman. There she sat in the golden mantle of her hair, enthroned on the\nsnow's pure whiteness. Creeping to her humbly, he fell to covering her\nfeet with kisses, so great was his need of her.\n\n\"My Woman,\" he wept, \"they are cold--so cold. Never again will I leave\nthee, not even to find God.\"\n\nShe bent towards him, lifting his chin in her hand. \"I shall feel the\ncold no more. Put thy hand in my breast. Dost thou feel it? I have that\nnext my heart which, though I grow old, shall keep me forever warm.\"\n\nAs he slipped his hand in her breast, she parted her hair and showed\nhim. Kneeling beside her, he gazed down wonderingly at a thing that he\nhad never seen before. He could find no name for it. It was like himself\nand it was like her also, only it was tiny and no thicker than his\nfore-arm. It had wee feet and hands, a rose-bud of a mouth and it was\nsmooth and soft. Its head, which was the size of an apple, was covered\nwith silky floss. Lowering his face, he sniffed it all over. It smelt\nsweet like the flowers that used to bloom in Eden.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"It was here when I wakened.\" Her eyes became bright\nand immense as stars. \"It's our's,\" she whispered tenderly.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nIt was awkward to have something for which you could find no name,\nespecially when it was something that you had begun to love already.\n\n\"We'll have to ask someone,\" the Man said. \"If I knew where He was,\nI might ask----\"\n\nThe Woman's face blanched. \"Not God,\" she begged. \"Because of the fruit\nwe ate, He might take it from us.\"\n\nJust then they were disturbed by a rustling of snow. Looking up, they\nsaw the rabbit, watching them with timid eyes and recovering his breath\nafter the long climb.\n\n\"What d'you want?\" the Man asked sharply.\n\nThe rabbit flicked his white scut and sat up on his hind-legs, his\nwhiskers quivering with excitement.\n\n\"I want to see it,\" he panted. \"The dog's been boasting. I hurried\nbecause I wanted to be the first to see it. I'm so little; I couldn't do\nit any harm.\"\n\n\"Let him see it,\" said the Woman. \"He's gentle. He might be able to tell\nus what to call it.\"\n\nSo the Man told the rabbit that he could have just one peep. But when\nthe rabbit tried to get his peep by standing against the Woman's knees,\nhe wasn't tall enough, so the Man had to lift him till he lay all furry\nagainst the little creature that was in the Woman's arms.\n\n\"I can't suggest anything,\" said the rabbit. \"We ought to consult the\nother animals. They all want to be friends; they're so curious. But\nthere's one thing I do know: we're both small and my coat would just fit\nit.\"\n\nBefore they could stop him, he had pulled off his coat and was tucking\nit snugly about the little stranger. He was right; it did fit exactly.\nSo the first garment of the earth's first baby was a rabbitskin, which\naccounts for the rhyme which mothers sing about \"Gone to fetch a\nrabbitskin, to wrap the baby bunting in.\"\n\nWhen the rabbit had presented his gift, he hopped down from the Woman's\nlap very much thinner.\n\n\"And now can I bring the other animals?\" he asked.\n\nThe Man hesitated. He was remembering the last visits of the lion and\nthe elephant and the rhinoceros. \"They might find a name for it,\" the\nrabbit pleaded.\n\nThen the Man nodded and the rabbit scuttled off.\n\nThey hadn't long to wait before they heard a deep breathing and\ngrunting. Struggling up the frozen path to the cave came all the animals\nthat God had created. They advanced in single file, the great and the\nsmall mixed up together; the giraffe followed by the hedgehog and the\nmastodon preceded by the frog. They came hand-in-hand, forming a chain\nto pull one another up, treading on each other's heels, jostling and\nslipping back on one another. Those behind kept whispering to those in\nfront to hurry; those in front were too winded to retort. Their ascent\nwas made more difficult by their generosity, for all save one of them\ncarried presents. The one who came empty-handed was the stork. He led\nthe procession looking stately and pompous, as though he were taking the\ncredit for having occasioned the disturbance. The Man learnt later that\nthat was precisely what he was doing--taking all the credit. He had been\ntelling the animals that it was he who had left the strange little\ncreature at the Woman's side the night before. Because of this he\npretended that it wasn't necessary for him to bring a present. There\nwere many who believed him. There still are.\n\nWhen they had all climbed safely to the top they gathered in a\nsemi-circle about the Woman, having piled their gifts before her. In\nsilence they waited; then she parted her hair and showed them the wonder\nthat nestled in her arms.\n\nThe Man, standing at her side, addressed them. \"Oh, brothers, I am wise,\nfor I have walked with God; yet have I never seen anything like it.\nThere was nothing like it in Eden. I have sent for you that I may ask\nyou what to call it.\"\n\nNo one answered. He questioned each in turn, but none of them could\nadvise him.\n\n\"We have to find a name for it,\" he said crossly; \"so let's sit down and\nthink hard.\"\n\nSo they sat down in the snow, scratching their heads, and thought hard.\nFrom time to time the Man enquired whether any of them had had an\ninspiration. They never had, which was discouraging when you consider\nwhat a lot of them were thinking. In this way at least an hour must have\npassed.\n\nThings were getting both cold and embarrassing, when the little\ncreature, who was being thought about so hard, showed signs of waking\nand began to stir in the Woman's arms. I ought to have told you that\never since the Man's home-coming it had been sleeping. First it kicked\nout with its bandy legs. Then it fisted its pudgy hands and yawned.\nThen it puckered its wee red face in a manner most alarming and, to the\namazement of them all.... The Woman was so amazed that she nearly let\nit drop. And yet what it did was perfectly natural; it opened its eyes,\nlike two blue patches of heaven, and blinked at them. Last of all it\nemitted a thin, wailing sound that made everybody abominably unhappy.\nThe crocodile became so emotional that his tears froze in two long\nicicles. After a pause the sound was repeated. All the animals rose on\ntheir hind-legs and covered their ears with their paws.\n\nThe Woman stared at them apologetically. She was distressed and puzzled.\n\"Please don't cover your ears,\" she begged. \"And don't think that I'm\nhurting it. There's something that it's trying to tell us. It's said the\nsame thing before. It began saying it the moment I first found it. It's\ngone on saying it, on and on.... There, there my little one, my\nbelovedest.\"\n\nAs if to corroborate her assertion that it had gone on and on, it\ncommenced to cry afresh. Out of politeness to the Woman, though the\nsound hurt them, the tenderhearted animals uncovered their ears and\nlistened intently. This is what they heard, repeated over and over,\n\"Baa-aa-by! Baa-aa-by! Baa-aa-by!\"\n\nThey were all shaking with sobbing when the elephant, in his coarsest\nmanner, lifted, up his trunk and snorted through it contemptuously.\n\n\"Stop snorting,\" the Man ordered impatiently. \"There's no reason why you\nshould snort.\"\n\n\"Isn't there?\" The elephant shuffled to his feet to depart. Before he\nwent, just to show his independence, again he snorted. Across his\nshoulder he remarked. \"And you think yourself so wise! You want to know\nwhat to call it. Every time it speaks it tells you.\" It cried once more.\n\"There you are!\" The elephant trumpeted triumphantly as he seated\nhimself at the top of the slide, having pulled his tail from under him\npreparatory to tobogganning down the path. \"Don't you hear what it says?\n'Baa-aa-by! Baa-aa-by!' It couldn't be put more plainly. It's asking you\nto call it baby.\"\n\nAs the elephant pushed off and vanished in a whirl of flying snow, the\nWoman turned to the Man with a smile of gladness. \"The clumsy fellow's\nright. Weren't we the stupids? Fancy not understanding our own baby!\"\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n\nAs you may imagine, all the beasts and birds went back to the jungle\nvery discontented. They didn't see why they shouldn't have babies. They\nwere wild to have babies. They talked of nothing else. No sooner had\nthey got down the hill from visiting the cave than they turned round and\nstarted to climb back again. They kept urging the Woman to be frank with\nthem and to confess how her baby had happened. Of course she couldn't\nconfess, seeing that she didn't know herself. All that she knew was that\nshe hadn't felt well since she had eaten the forbidden fruit in Eden\nand, now that the baby had been born, she felt completely restored. Such\ninformation wasn't of much use to the animals, for the forbidden fruit\ngrew inside of Eden and the gates of Eden were locked. At last the Man\nhad to interfere to prevent her from being bothered. He stuck up a\nnotice at the entrance to the cave, _December 25th. Mother And Child\nBoth Doing Well. Don't knock._ When the animals came to call, he\nprevented them from entering by explaining gravely that having a baby\nwas a very touch-and-go business and left one decidedly exhausted. To\nhave listened to him you might have supposed that he'd spent all his\nlife in rocking cradles, whereas he was such a novice that, had it not\nbeen for the elephant, he wouldn't even have known that babies were\ncalled babies. Like all fathers he deceived himself that there was\nnothing he didn't know about baby-lore. What was very much more\nsurprising, by whispering and looking secretive he managed to impress\nthe animals with his new-found learning and paternal importance.\n\nBut what had happened to the robin while all these excitements were\ngoing on? The last time we mentioned him he was sitting perched on the\nWoman's shoulder, singing her his very finest song.\n\nThe robin, though you may not have heard it, has always been a most\nreligious bird. He had made up his mind, the moment the Man had come\nback, that the first thing to be done was to go and tell God. The chief\ndifficulty about accomplishing this errand was due to God Himself; as\nyou will remember, in returning to Heaven God had destroyed the sky-blue\nstairs behind Him. But the robin had wings; moreover he was an optimist.\nHe hoped that by fluttering up and up he would be able to reach Heaven\nin safety. The reason that he had never tried before was because he had\nbeen afraid that God would not want him. He felt sure of his welcome now\nthat he was the bearer of such glad tidings.\n\nHe found the journey much harder than he had expected. There were parts\nof it that were so bitter that his wings would scarcely flutter. After\nhe had lost sight of earth, he had to wind his way between the burning\nstars; they were so close together in places that his feathers were\nscorched. But he pressed on valiantly till he made out the quiet shining\nof the gates of Heaven and entered through the unguarded walls of jasper\ninto a garden, which was in no way different from the one that God had\nplanted upon earth.\n\nBeneath scented trees the angels were scattered about disconsolately.\nThere were black rims under their eyes; it was easy to see they had been\nworrying. Their beautiful white gowns had come unstarched; it was many\ndays since they had tidied themselves. There wasn't a sound of any\nsort--least of all of music. Some of them still carried their harps; but\nmost of them had stacked them in open spaces the way soldiers stack\ntheir rifles. When the robin sank spent to the grass in front of them,\nthey paid him scant attention. When he weakly chirped his question,\n\"Where's God?\" they jerked their thumbs, indicating the direction, too\nlistless to waste breath on words.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked the robin.\n\n\"We're unhappy.\" After they had said it, they had difficulty to choke\nback their sobs.\n\n\"But why are you unhappy? Whoever heard of being unhappy in Heaven!\"\n\n\"Because--because----.\" They glanced at one another forlornly, hoping\nthat someone else would be the first to answer. \"Because of the\nforbidden fruit. It's made God cross.\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\" The robin swelled out his little breast with importance. \"You'd\nbetter visit earth and see our baby. If the Woman hadn't eaten the\nforbidden fruit, there wouldn't be any baby.\"\n\nThe word \"baby\" was entirely new to them. They sat up beneath their\nscented trees and began to ask questions. But the robin didn't want to\nbe delayed; he spread his wings and fluttered on.\n\nAt last he came to the smoothest of smooth lawns, in the midst of which\ngrew a mulberry-tree, beneath whose shadow God was seated with the\nVirgin Mary. Despite the flakes of sunlight falling and the gold-blue\npeace by which They were surrounded. Their attitudes were no less\ndespondent than the angels'. God sat with His elbows digging into His\nknees. His face was buried in His delicate hands. His eyes, peering\nthrough His fingers, were strained and red with always staring\nbroodingly straight before Him. Of the Virgin Mary, crouching at His\nfeet, the robin could only see the glint of her flaxen hair and the\npaleness of her narrow shoulders. Her head was bowed in the lap of her\nMaker as if she had been beseeching Him always.\n\nThe robin was overwhelmed with terror. All his chirpiness was gone.\n\"Dear God,\" he quavered, \"I beg Thy forgiveness. I have come when I was\nnot bidden.\"\n\nHe paused, hoping that God would encourage him. When God took no notice,\nhe felt himself to be the most insignificant and impertinent of living\ncreatures. He spoke again, lest the silence should kill him on the spot.\n\n\"I have brought glad tidings--at least, we on earth think they are\nglad. The Woman, whom Thou didst cast out for eating the fruit that was\nforbidden, has been very sick. She has been sick since April till just\nbefore day-break this morning, when she miraculously recovered. At her\nside she found lying a little thing--such a little thing--so like\nto Thyself, oh, God. It has bandy legs and arms no thicker than Thy\nsmallest finger. It has a baldy head, about the size of an apple, with\nthreads of gold spread over it like floss. It has a pink, wee face and\na rose-bud of a mouth. It's eyes are like patches of Thine own blue\nHeaven. And it's soft and cuddly. The Women calls it her 'Belovedest.'\nAnd it smells sweet like the flowers we used to breathe in Eden. We\ndidn't know what it was. Even the Man didn't know. He summoned the\nanimals to come and find a name for it. While they were sitting on their\nhind-legs, behold, it awoke and told us that its rightful name was baby.\nAnd now, oh, God, we birds and animals want to have babies. We're all\ntrying to find out how it happened. And I want to find out most\nespecially, because----\"\n\n\"A baby, thou sayest! What is a baby? I, thy Creator, know nothing of\nit. The last thing I fashioned was the Woman, who has brought this deep\nshame upon Us.\"\n\nGod had spoken through His hands very softly, yet His voice was like a\ngreat wind blowing. It took the robin some seconds to recover from the\nshock. By the time he was ready to answer, the angels were rustling\nthrough all the glades of Heaven and the Virgin was gazing at him with\nwistful intensity.\n\n\"What is a baby!\" he said audaciously repeating God's words. \"It is a\nlittle Man and a little God. Surely, Thou knowest?\"\n\n\"I know nothing,\" God thundered, letting fall His hands from before His\nface. \"Be gone.\"\n\nWhen the hurricane of sound had ended, the robin found himself hovering\nin the gateway between the jasper walls, where the sheer drop which lies\nbetween earth and Heaven commences. He turned to look back before he\ntook the leap and saw that behind him the angels were following.\nFollowing most closely was the Virgin.\n\n\"Tell me again,\" she pleaded. \"It's little and soft. It's cuddly and it\nsmells like the flowers that bloom in Eden.\"\n\nPerched on her shoulder, with his beak against her ear, he twittered to\nher his tale once more. While he was telling her, the angels crowded\nround, smoothing his feathers with shy caresses. But he didn't dare to\nstay too long, for distantly from beneath the mulberry tree, he still\nfelt the brooding eyes of God. Launching himself from the Virgin's\nshoulder, he sank between the burning stars and through the bitter\ncoldness of clouds snow-laden, till late in the wintry afternoon he\nreached the cave on the limestone ridge, whence a murmur of secret\nsinging was emerging.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n\nOn the threshold he paused to listen. Yes, it was the Woman. It was the\nfirst time she had been happy enough to sing since she had been cast out\nof Eden. But her song was entirely different from anything that she had\nsung before. It was more little and tender. It was a lullaby of\nmother-nonsense, which she hummed when she couldn't find the proper\nrhymes and made up as she went along.\n\nAs the robin fluttered through the gloom to her shoulder, she pressed\nher finger to her lips to warn him. The baby eyes were the merest slits\nof blueness. The little thumb was in the mouth and the baby lips were\nsucking hard. The tiny knees were digging into the Woman's body and the\nbaldy head was cushioned on her bosom. The dog snoozed across her feet.\nThe Man crouched against her, shrouded in the mantle of her hair,\novercome with weariness. She was mothering them all, rocking herself\nslowly and singing gently her silly little song. The crooning of it over\nand over seemed to hush them with a sense of security.\n\n\n  \"You are my ownty,\n  Dear little donty,\n  Sweetest and wonty,\n  Pudding and pie;\n  Good little laddie,\n  Just like your daddie.\n  Fallen from Heaven,\n  Come from the sky.\"\n\n\n\"But he didn't,\" whispered the robin.\n\nThe Woman paused in her singing. \"Didn't what?\"\n\n\"He didn't fall from Heaven. God's just been telling me; He never heard\nabout him.\"\n\nThe Woman smiled. \"Never heard about him! It doesn't matter; his Mummy's\nheard about him.\" She stooped to kiss the soft little bundle, for he had\ncommenced to stir. Then she resumed her singing.\n\nGradually the day failed. The late afternoon faded into evening. Gray\ntwilight stole swiftly down. For a while the white fields of snow\noutside reflected a vague dimness; then night came with a noiseless\nrush, closing up the entrance to the cave with a wall of blackness.\n\nPerched on the Woman's shoulder the robin dozed. She still went on\nsinging. How long he had been dozing he had no means of telling. He\nwas wakened by a multitudinous rustling, as of a crowd assembling and\ndrawing nearer. At first he thought that it was some of the more\npersistent of the animals, coming once more to urge the Woman to tell\nthem how babies happened. Then, of a sudden, he knew that he had been\nmistaken. The gloom of the cave was lit up by a glowing brightness.\nPeering across the threshold, with all the haloed hosts of Heaven\ntiptoeing behind her, was the Virgin Mary. It was the crowd of haloes\nthat was causing so much brightness.\n\nStepping to the Woman's side, she gazed down longingly at the small\nGod-Man.\n\n\"I want one. Oh, I want one so badly,\" she murmured.\n\nThe angels, thronging behind her, folded their wings and repeated her\nwords, \"So badly! So badly!\" The sound was like a prayer, dying out in\nthe void which spreads between earth and Heaven.\n\n\"Let me hold him,\" she begged.\n\nBecause she was the Virgin, even though it might wake him, the Woman did\nnot dare to refuse her. But she asserted her authority, as all mothers\nmust, by pretending that she was the only person who knew how to hold\nhim properly. And perhaps she was the only one at that moment, for there\nwas no other mother besides herself in earth or Heaven. She showed the\nVirgin how to support his little head because it was wobbly; and how to\nkeep one arm beneath his back because it was weak; and how he liked to\nbe cuddled against her breast because it was warm and cushiony. And\nthen, becoming generous, she taught her the silly little lullaby.\n\n\"I shall never go back to Heaven,\" the Virgin whispered. \"I shall stay\nhere always and help you nurse him.\"\n\n\"Never go back to Heaven,\" the angels echoed; \"stay here always.\"\n\nThe Woman's eyes became troubled. \"But I want him to myself,\" she\nfaltered. \"I don't want helping.\" Then she ceased to frown, for she had\ndiscovered a stronger argument. \"Besides, what about God? You wouldn't\nleave Him all by Himself in Heaven. He'd be lonely.\"\n\nThe Virgin nodded her head vigorously. \"I would, for I also am a woman.\nThere are no babies in Heaven. I couldn't be happy without a baby.\"\n\nBehind her the angels nodded their haloes. \"No babies in Heaven.\nCouldn't be happy without a baby.\"\n\nIt must have been so much talking that disturbed him; the baby woke up.\nAs he opened his eyes and saw the Queen of Heaven bending over him, he\nsmiled. It was his first smile. On the instant the Woman, like all\nmothers, became jealous and snatched him back into her own possession.\nShe liked to believe that no one, not even the Man, could make him as\ncomfortable as she could. Piling her golden hair upon her knees to make\na pillow for him, she laid him naked on his back and commenced playing\nwith his toes. If he had not given her his first smile, she would at\nleast make certain of his second.\n\nShe was so taken up with her playing that she did not notice who had\nentered. She was the only one who had not noticed. The angels were\ncowering against the walls of the cave. The Man had roused and crouched\ncovering his face with his hands. Only the Virgin stood upright, meek\nand fearless, with a look of unconquerable challenge. The Woman was\nquite oblivious; she went on with her mother-nonsense. And there stood\nGod regarding her through a cloud of puzzlement and anger.\n\nThe game that she played with the baby-feet she was inventing on the\nspur of the moment. Starting with the tiniest toe, she wiggled it.\nThen she wiggled the next tiniest, and the next tiniest, and the next\ntiniest, till she had come to the biggest of the tiny toes. To each toe\nas she wiggled it, she gave a name; when she had wiggled them all she\nburied her face in the fat, kicking legs.\n\n\"And this is Peedy Peedy,\" she said as she wiggled the littlest toe.\n\"And this next babiest is Polly Loody. And this in the middle is Lady\nFissle. And this tall fellow is Lally Vassal. And last we come of the\nbig, big toe, who's king of them all. His name is Great Ormondon.\" Then\nshe dived her lips into the little squirming legs and kissed them as if\nshe were going to make a meal of them.\n\nShe had to do it four times before the baby smiled at her. At first he\nonly looked serious and astonished. The fifth time his smile broadened\nand he gurgled. But the sixth, as she came to \"The Great Ormondon,\" he\nburst into a crowing laugh. Never before had a laugh been heard in earth\nor Heaven. It was so surprising that the angels ceased from cowering and\nthe Man uncovered his face to see better.\n\nThen God spoke. His voice was kind and tender like the cooing of\ndoves--so kind and tender that the Woman, discovering His presence,\nwasn't a bit frightened. Sweeping the hair back from her eyes, she\nnodded to Him in the old friendly fashion in which she had been used to\ngreet Him in Eden.\n\n\"Can you make him do it again?\" God asked.\n\nHe came nearer and leant above her shoulder. So she made the baby laugh\nagain.\n\n\"Could I make him?\"\n\n\"Try,\" said the Woman.\n\nSo God wiggled the little toes, starting with the tiniest, and the Woman\nwhispered the five magic names to Him secretly so that He might say them\nall correctly. \"Peedy Peedy. Polly Loody. Lady Fissle. Lally Vassal. And\nthe Great Ormondon.\"\n\nWhen God boomed out the last large sounding name, the baby doubled his\nlittle fists, crowing and laughing unmistakably. Then God laughed, too,\nand the Virgin, and all the Hosts of Heaven, and the Man and the Woman,\ntill at last the dog and the robin couldn't restrain themselves any\nlonger and joined in His laughter. When once they'd started laughing it\nwas difficult to stop. Besides, they didn't want to stop. They were\ndoing it for the first time and they liked the feeling of it. God\nlaughed till the tears streamed down His face. By the time He held up\nHis hand for silence, there was scarcely an angel who wasn't wearing his\nhalo crooked.\n\n\"That's done us all good,\" said God. \"I must have a baby for my very own\nexactly like him. I almost think that everybody ought to have babies.\"\nThen catching sight of the dog and the robin, He added, \"I mean the\nanimals, too.\"\n\nHe turned to the Man. \"What day is this? I've not been counting since I\nceased to walk in Eden.\"\n\nThe Man answered humbly. \"Dear God, it is the twenty-fifth of December.\"\n\n\"I must remember that,\" said God thoughtfully. And then to the Virgin,\n\"Come. It grows late. There is no one to light the lamps of Heaven. You\nshall have your desire; for you, too, are a woman.\"\n\nAnd the robins say that God did remember, for it was on the twenty-fifth\nof December, centuries later, that his own son was born into the world.\nThey say that the limestone ridge within sight of Eden was the spot\nwhere Bethlehem grew up after Eden vanished. They even say that the cave\nto which Mary came on another winter's night, when the doors of the inn\nhad been closed against her, was the very same. There, where the world's\nfirst baby had been born, she wrapped God's son in swaddling clothes and\nlaid him in a manger, for the cave had now become a stable. Perhaps the\nheavenly host who sang \"Peace and Goodwill\" to the shepherds was the\nsame, though the robins do not assert that.\n\nOf one thing they are certain: that every time a baby is born God\nlaughs again and His laughter travels down the ages. And that is why on\nChristmas Day everyone is especially kind to children, because it was a\nlittle child who gave the first laugh and taught grown people, even God\nHimself, how easy it is to love when one is merry.\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS OUTSIDE OF EDEN\n\n_By_\n\nCONINGSBY DAWSON\n\n  _Author of_ \"The Little House,\"\n  \"The Seventh Christmas,\"\n  \"Carry On,\" etc.\n\nWITH _ILLUSTRATIONS_ BY\n\nEUGENE FRANCIS SAVAGE\n\n\nA delightful Christmas fantasy told with inimitable charm and delicate\nhumor. It is \"the story the robins tell as they huddle beneath the holly\non the Eve of Christmas\"--the sensation created by the birth of the\nfirst baby, among the animals on earth, the angels in heaven, and even\nin the mind of the surprised Almighty Himself. The conception of the\nDeity is a primitive one, as required by the nature of the tale, and the\nstory should be read as a \"myth-story.\"\n\n\nDODD, MEAD & COMPANY\n\n_Publishers_ NEW YORK","title":"Christmas Outside of Eden","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":10398}