CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE

A CHRISTMAS SONG

THE SHEPHERD MAIDEN’S GIFT

(Eastern Legend)

In the quiet midnight, peace brooded over the fields where the shepherds were watching their flocks. The tinkling of sheepbells, the bleating of lambs, and the barking of watchdogs had gradually ceased. Around a large campfire several shepherds lay resting, for they had had a long, hard day. Each had beside him a strong shepherd’s crook and a stout club ready for use in case any lurking danger threatened the beloved flocks.

Not far away from the campfire a shepherd maiden lay sleeping in the rude shelter of a rocky cave. All day long she had helped her father guard the sheep, and when darkness fell over the fields and hills, she was glad to lie down in her snug bed made of the fleecy skins of kids and lambs.

Suddenly a light filled the cave and wakened the maiden. Thinking it was daybreak, she sprang up, stepped to the rude doorway, and pushed aside the curtain of goatskin.

“What has happened?” she whispered.

The fields and hills were flooded with light. The group of shepherds were standing close together, gazing intently at the luminous eastern sky. A moment later she saw them fall on their knees in worship. There in the entrance of her rude shelter, she, too, knelt and prayed. Clearly she saw the shining angel appear and in the peaceful stillness of the night she heard these words:

“Be not afraid; for, behold, I bring good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people: for there is born to you this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be the sign unto you: ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

And suddenly there was with the angel many, many others. Together they lifted up their voices in praise and sang,

When the sweet music died away, the maiden rose to her feet and joined the shepherds.

“I saw the angel, Father, and heard the singing,” she whispered.

“Christ, the Lord, is born,” answered her father.

“Let us hasten to Bethlehem and see the Heavenly Child who fulfills the promise of God,” said one of the shepherds.

“Shall we leave our flocks?” asked another. But the question was not answered.

“Come, let us see what gifts we have to carry to the Christ-child,” said the shepherd who first saw the light in the sky.

In a few moments these simple-hearted men were ready to start across the fields and over the low hills to Bethlehem. Very humble gifts they had to offer, but their hearts were filled with joy and wonder.

Standing near the entrance to the cave the shepherd maiden could see the outline of the group of men making their way to the city of David. “They are going to see the Christ-child,” she said to herself, “a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

How she would love to see the Heavenly Child! A deep longing to behold the little new-born King seized her. She would follow the shepherds to Bethlehem. One glimpse at the Christ-child would fill her heart with joy.

Away over the star-lit fields and hills she started. Not once did she falter, although the way was long and some of the hillsides were hard to climb.

Finally, she saw the shepherds pass in the gate of the city of Bethlehem.

“I came to see the Christ-child,” she said to a group of people who stood whispering together. They looked at her in astonishment.

“I am following the shepherds,” she added.

“They have gone to the inn,” was the answer.

When she reached the inn she was directed to a cave near, which served as a stable.

There through the entrance she saw the shepherds lay their humble presents at Mary’s feet and then kneel in solemn adoration.

“I have brought nothing to offer,” whispered the maiden, looking wistfully into the rude shelter. “I cannot go in without a gift—a little gift for the Christ-child.”

Tears of disappointment filled her eyes. Slowly she turned to leave the place. But after she had taken a few steps she stopped and burst into sobs. How could she go away without a glimpse of the Heavenly Child? Then, as she stood weeping, a marvelous thing happened. An angel appeared beside her and said:

“Lo, here at thy feet is a gift for the Christ-child.”

Then she saw growing near her, slender stems covered with delicate green leaves and bearing lovely flowers.

The maiden did not stop to wonder. Here was a gift fit to offer the little Saviour. With trembling joy she gathered the Christmas roses and stepped lightly into the humble house where the little babe lay smiling in his mother’s arms. In Mary’s lap the maiden laid her gift of flowers, and, with radiant face, she knelt and filled her heart with the glorious vision.

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

Laura E. Richards

“Mother,” said Jack, “may I have some money to buy Christmas presents with?”

“Dear,” said his mother, “I have no money. We are very poor, and I can hardly buy enough food for us all.”

Jack hung his head; if he had not been ten the tears would have come to his eyes, but he was ten.

“All the other boys give presents!” he said.

“So shall you!” said his mother. “All presents are not bought with money. The best boy that ever lived was as poor as we are, and yet He was always giving.”

“Who was He,” asked Jack; “and what did He give?”

“This is His birthday,” said the mother. “He was the good Jesus. He was born in a stable, and He lived in a poor working-man’s house. He never had a penny of His own, yet he gave twelve good gifts every day. Would you like to try His way?”

“Yes!” cried Jack.

So his mother told him this and that; and soon after Jack started out, dressed in his best suit, to give his presents.

First, he went to Aunt Jane’s house. She was old and lame, and she did not like boys.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Merry Christmas!” said Jack. “May I stay for an hour and help you?”

“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “Want to keep you out of mischief, do they? Well, you may bring in some wood.”

“Shall I split some kindling, too?” asked Jack.

“If you know how,” said Aunt Jane. “I can’t have you cutting your foot and messing my clean shed all up.”

Jack found some fresh pine wood and a bright hatchet, and he split up a great pile of kindling and thought it fun. He stacked it neatly, and then brought in a pail of fresh water and filled the kettle.

“What else can I do?” he asked. “There are twenty minutes more.”

“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “You might feed the pig.”

Jack fed the pig, who thanked him in his own way.

“Ten minutes more!” he said. “What shall I do now?”

“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “You may sit down and tell me why you came.”

“It is a Christmas present!” said Jack. “I am giving hours for presents. I had twelve, but I gave one to mother, and another one was gone before I knew I had it. This hour was your present.”

“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. She hobbled to the cupboard and took out a small round pie that smelt very good. “Here!” she said. “This is your present, and I thank you for mine. Come again, will you?”

“Indeed I will,” said Jack, “and thank you for the pie!”

Next Jack went and read for an hour to old Mr. Green, who was blind. He read a book about the sea, and they both liked it very much, so the hour went quickly. Then it was time to help mother get dinner, and then time to eat it; that took two hours, and Aunt Jane’s pie was wonderful. Then Jack took the Smith baby for a ride in its carriage, as Mrs. Smith was ill, and they met its grandfather, who filled Jack’s pockets with candy and popcorn and invited him to a Christmas tree that night.

Next Jack went to see Willy Brown, who had been ill for a long time and could not leave his bed. Willy was very glad to see him; they played a game, and then each told the other a story, and before Jack knew it the clock struck six.

“Oh!” cried Jack. “You have had two!”

“Two what?” asked Willy.

“Two hours!” said Jack; and he told Willy about the presents he was giving. “I am glad I gave you two,” he said, “and I would give you three, but I must go and help mother.”

“Oh, dear!” said Willy. “I thank you very much, Jack. I have had a perfectly great time; but I have nothing to give you.”

Jack laughed. “Why, don’t you see?” he cried; “you have given me just the same thing. I have had a great time, too.”

“Mother,” said Jack, as he was going to bed, “I have had a splendid Christmas, but I wish I had had something to give you besides the hours.”

“My darling,” said his mother, “you have given me the best gift of all—yourself!”

SILVER BELLS

THE ANIMALS’ CHRISTMAS TREE

John P. Peters

Once upon a time the animals decided to have a Christmas tree, and this was how it came about: The swifts and the swallows in the chimneys in the country houses, awakened from their sleep by joy and laughter, had stolen down and peeped in upon scenes of happiness, the center of which was always an evergreen tree covered with wonderful fruit, bright balls of many colours, and sparkling threads of gold and silver, lying like beautiful frost-work among the green fir needles. A sweet, fairy-like figure of a Christ Child or an angel rested high among the branches, and underneath the tree were dolls and sleds and skates and drums and toys of every sort, and furs and gloves and tippets, ribbons and handkerchiefs, and all the things that boys and girls need and like; and all about this tree were gathered always little children with faces—oh! so full of wonderment and expectation, changing to radiant, sparkling merriment as toys and candies were taken off the tree or from underneath its boughs and distributed among them.

The swifts and swallows told their feathered friends all about it, and they told others, both birds and animals, until at last it began to be rumoured through all the animal world that on one day in the year the children of men were made wonderfully happy by means of some sort of festival which they held about a fir tree from the forest. Now, of course, the tame animals and the house animals, the dogs and the cats and the mice, knew something more about this festival. But then, they did not exchange visits with the wild animals, because they felt themselves above them.

They were always trying to be like men and women, you know, putting on airs and pretending to know everything; but, after all, they were animals and could not help making friendships now and then with the wild creatures, especially when the men and women were not there. And when they were asked about the Christmas tree, they told still more wonderful stories than the swifts and the swallows from the chimneys had told, for some of them had taken part in these festivals, and some had even received presents from the tree, just like the children.

They said that the tree was called a Christmas tree, because that strange fruit and that wonderful frosting came on it only in the Christmas time, and that the Christmas time was the time when men and women and little children, too, were always kind and good and loving, and gave things to one another; and they said, moreover, that on the Christmas tree grew the things which every one wanted, and which would make them happy, and that it was so, because in the Christmas time everyone was trying to make everyone else happy and to think of what other people would like. This they said was what they had seen and heard told about Christmas trees. They did not quite understand why it was so, but they knew that the Christmas tree, when rightly made, brought the Christmas spirit, and they had heard men say that the Christmas spirit was the great thing, and that that was what made everyone happy.

Well, the long and the short of it was that the animals talked of it in their dens and on their roosts, in the fields, and in the forests, wild beasts and tame alike—the cows and the horses in their stalls, the sheep in their fold, the doves in their cotes and the poultry in the poultry-yard, until all agreed that a Christmas tree would be a grand thing for the wild and tame alike. Like the men, they, too, would have a tree of their very own. But how to do it?

Then the lion called a meeting of all the creatures, wild and tame; for you know the lion is king of beasts and when he calls they all must come. You know, too, that before and during and after these animal congresses there is a royal peace. The lamb can come to the meeting and sit down by the wolf, and the wolf dare not touch him; the dove may perch on the bough between the hawk and the owl and neither will harm him, when the great king of beasts has summoned them all together to take counsel. But you know all about the rules of the animals, for you have read them in books, and you have seen the pictures: how the lion sits on his throne with a crown on one side of his head, and all the other creatures gather about—the elephant, and giraffe, the hippopotamus, the buffalo, wolves and tigers and leopards, foxes and deer, goats and sheep, monkeys and orang-outangs, parrots and robins and turkeys and swans and storks and eagles and frogs and lizards and alligators, and all the rest besides.

Then, when the lion had called the meeting to order, the swifts and the swallows told what they had seen, and a fat little pug-dog, with a ribbon and a silver bell about his neck, wheezed out a story of a Christmas tree that he had seen, and how a silver bell had grown on that tree for him and a whole box of the best sweets he had ever dreamed of while he lay comfortably snoozing on his cushion before the fire. And a Persian cat, with her hair turned the wrong way, mewed out her story of a Christmas tree that she had attended, and told how there was a white mouse made of cream cheese for her creeping about beneath the branches.

Then the monkeys chattered and the elephants trumpeted, the horses neighed, the hyenas laughed, and each in his own way argued for a Christmas tree and told what he would do to help make it.

The elephant would go into the forest, and choose the tree and pull it up. The buffaloes would drag it in. The giraffe would fix the ornaments on the higher limbs, because its neck was long. The monkeys would scramble up where the giraffe could not reach. The squirrels could run out on the slender twigs and help the monkeys. The birds would fly about and get the golden threads and put them on the tree with their beaks. The fire-flies would hide themselves among the branches and sparkle like diamonds, and the glow-worms promised to help the fire-flies by playing candles, if someone would lift them up and put them on the branches. The parrots and paroquets and other birds of gay plumage would give feathers to hang among the branches, and the humming-birds promised to flutter in and out among the twigs, and the sheep to give white wool to lie like snow among the boughs.

Then the parrots screeched and the peacocks screamed with delight, and you and I never could have told whether anybody voted aye or nay; but the lion knew; and the owl, for he was clerk, set it down in the minutes, as the lion bade him, that all the birds and beasts would do their part. So each planned what he could do. Even the little beetle, who makes great balls of earth, thought that if he could only once see one of those gay balls that grow on the children’s Christmas tree, he might make some for the animals’ tree. Different birds and beasts told of the oranges and apples and holly-berries and who knows what they could get and hang upon the tree. You see the animals came from many places, and then, too, they could send the carrier pigeons to go and bring fruit and berries, and who knows what besides, from oh, so far away, because the carrier pigeons can fly through the air no one knows how fast or how far.

Well, I cannot tell you everything that each one was going to do, but if you will go and get your Noah’s ark and take the animals out one by one, then you surely will think it out for yourself, for you have all the animals there.

And so they arranged how they would ornament the tree, and the next thing was to decide what presents should be hung on the tree or put beneath its boughs, for each one must have his present. Well, after much discussion in roars, and bellows, crows and croaks, lows and screams and bleats, and baas and grunts, and all the other sounds of birds and beast language, it was voted that each might choose the present he wished hung on the tree. The clerkly owl should call their names one by one, and each might declare his choice. So they began. The parrots and the macaws thought that they would like oranges and bananas and such things, which would look so pretty on the tree, too; and so they were arranged for. The robins and the cedar birds chose cherries; the the partridges, partridge berries, the squirrels, the red and grey and black, nuts and apples and pears. The monkeys said the popcorn strings would do for them, and the cats and dogs, remembering the Christmas gift which the pug-dog and Persian cat had told about, asked for tiny mice made of cream cheese or chocolate. By and by it came the pig’s turn to tell his choice. “Grunt, grunt!” said the pig, “I want a nice pail of swill hung on the very lowest bough of all.”

“Ugh!” said the black leopard, so sleek and so clean.

“Faugh!” said the gazelle, with his dainty sense of smell.

“Neigh!” said the horse, so daintily groomed.

“What!” roared the lion, “what’s that you want?”

“A pail of swill,” grunted the pig. “Each one has chosen what he wants, and I have a right to choose what I want.”

“But,” roared the lion, “each one has chosen something beautiful to make the tree a joy to all.”

“Grunt, grunt,” said the pig. “The parrots and macaws are going to have oranges and bananas, and the robins and the cedar birds red cherries, the partridges, their berries, the squirrels, nuts and apples and pears, the dog and the cat, their cream and chocolate mice. They all have what they want to eat. Grunt, grunt,” said he; “I will have what I want to eat, too, and what I want is a pail of swill.”

Now, you see it had been voted, as I told you, that each should have what he wanted hung on the tree for him, and so the lion could not help himself. If the pig chose swill, swill he must have, and angrily he had to roar: “If the pig wants swill, a pail of swill he must have, hung on the lowest bough of the tree!”

Then the wolf’s wicked eyes gleamed, for his turn was next, and he said: “If the pig has swill because he wants swill to eat, I must have what I want to eat, and I want a tender lamb, six months old.” And at that all the lambs and the sheep bleated and baaed.

“Ha, ha!” barked the fox; “then I want a turkey!” And the turkeys gobbled in fear.

“And I,” said the tiger, “want a yearling calf.” And the cows and the calves lowed in horror.

“And I,” said the owl, the clerk, “I want a plump dove.”

“And I,” said the hawk, “will take a rabbit.”

“And I,” said the leopard, “want a deer or a gazelle.”

Then all was fear and uproar. The hares and rabbits scuttled into the grass; the gazelles and the deer bounded away; the sheep and the cattle crowded close together; the small birds rose in the air in flocks; and the Christmas tree was like to have come to grief and ended, not in Christmas joy, but in fear and hatred and terror.

Then a little lamb stepped out and bleated: “Ah! king lion, it would be very sad if all the animals should lose their Christmas tree, for the very thought of that tree has brought us closer together, and here we were, wild and tame, fierce and timid, met together as friends; and oh! king lion, rather than there should not be a tree, they may take me and hang me on it. Let them not take the turkeys and gazelles and the calves and the rabbits and all the rest that they have chosen. Let the tigers and leopards, and wolves and foxes and eagles, and hawks and owls and all their kind be content that their Christmas present shall be a lamb; and so we may come together again and have our happy Christmas tree, and each have what he wishes.”

“But,” said the lion, “what will you have? If you give yourself, then you will have no Christmas present.”

“Yes,” said the lamb, “I, too, shall have what I want, for I shall have brought them all together again, and made each one happy.”

Then a dove fluttered down from a tree and landed on the ground beside the lamb, and very timidly and softly she cooed: “Take me, too, king lion, as the present for the owls and the hawks, and the weasels and minks, because for them a lamb is too big. I am the best present for them. Take me, king lion!”

Then the lion roared: “See what the lamb and the dove have done! My food, oh, tigers and leopards and wolves and eagles and all your kind, is like your food; but I would rather eat nothing from our Christmas tree than take this lamb or dove for my present.”

Then all the beasts kept still, because the lion roared so loud and angrily, and the birds that were flying away settled on the branches of the trees, and the gazelles stopped their running and turned their heads to listen, and the rabbits peeped out through the grass and brush where they had hid. Then the lion turned to the pig, and roared:

“See this lamb and this dove! Are you not ashamed for what you have done? You have spoiled all our happiness. Will you take back your choice, you pig, or do you wish to ruin our Christmas tree?”

“Grunt, grunt,” said the pig, “it is my right. I want something good. I don’t care for your lambs and your doves. I want my swill!”

Then the lion roared again: “Have all chosen?” and all answered, “Yes.”

“Then,” said the lion, “it is my choice.”

And all said: “It is.”

“I love fat and tender pigs. I choose a pig for my Christmas gift,” roared the lion.

Did you ever hear a pig squeal? Oh, how that pig squealed then! And he got up on his fat little legs and tried to run away, but all the animals gathered around in a ring and the hyenas laughed, and the jackals cried, and the dogs and the wolves and the foxes headed him off and hunted the poor pig back again. Then, when the pig found that he could not run away, he lay down on his back with his feet in the air and squealed with all his might: “Oh, I don’t want the swill; oh, I don’t want the swill! I take it all back! I don’t want anything!”

But at first no one heard him, because all were talking at once in their own way—barking and growling and roaring and chattering; but by and by the lion saw that the pig was squealing something, so he roared for silence, and then they all heard the pig squeal out that he did not want any swill. And the lion roared aloud: “You have heard. Has the owl recorded that the pig will have no swill?”

“Yes,” said the owl.

“Then,” said the lion, “record that the lion wants no pig.”

Then the tiger growled: “And I want no calf,” and one by one the leopard and the eagle, the wolf and the fox, the hawk and owl, and all their kind, took back their votes.

And so it came about that the animals did have a Christmas tree after all; but instead of hanging lambs and doves upon the tree, they agreed that they could hang little images of lambs and doves, and other birds and animals, too, perhaps. And by and by the custom spread until the humans came to hang the same little images on their trees, too, and when you see a little figure of a lamb or a dove on the Christmas tree, you may know that it is all because the lamb and the dove, by their unselfishness, saved the animals from strife; for neither thought what he wanted from the tree, but each was ready to give himself for the others, so that they might not fight and kill one another at the Christmas time.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

HOLLY

Ada M. Marzials

There was once upon a time a very war-like kingdom where they had never heard of Christmas. The men spent all their days fighting, and the women spent their days in urging the warriors to further deeds of valour.

This had gone on for a very long time, and no one had ever yet said that he was tired of it. There was but one person in the whole kingdom who had openly declared that war was hateful, but as she was only the Youngest Princess nobody paid any heed to her.

Then came a time, just before our Christmas Day, when the King was preparing a great campaign against a far-off country. He called together his Council of War—grave old warriors, dressed completely in armour.

“My friends,” said he, “we are about to wage war on the distant kingdoms of Zowega. Up till this time the people of that country have been our very good friends, but as we have now conquered all our enemies, there seems no one but our friends left to fight, and of these the King of the Zowegians is chief.

“You will remember that his youngest son, Prince Moldo, spent some of his boyhood at our court in order to gain instruction in feats of arms, and that the Prince left us to travel over the world. A few months ago his father sent word to me that the Prince had returned home, bringing with him the news of a Pearl of Great Price, which contained the Secret of Happiness. It is this Pearl which I have made the excuse for war, for I have demanded it in payment for the services that we rendered to Prince Moldo. In my message I have said that if the Pearl, and the Secret which it contains, are not brought and revealed to us here within the next five days, our troops will descend upon the kingdom of Zowega and wipe it off the face of the earth.”

Loud and long cheered the Council at the speech of their King, as, indeed, was their duty, though in their hearts of hearts they had no wish to fight against the King of the Zowegians, who was their very good friend. The Queen and the Princesses smiled graciously upon them, all save the Youngest Princess, who had been Prince Moldo’s playfellow. She disgraced herself by bursting into passionate tears, and was forthwith ordered out of the Council Hall.

At the end of five days the Council once more assembled to await the arrival of the messenger with the answer from the King of Zowega.

The day was bright and cold, and there was snow on the ground. The King and Queen were wrapped in thick fur cloaks. The Princesses were all assembled, too, even the Youngest, who was dressed in ermine and looked as pale as death.

It was Christmas Eve, but there were no Christmas trees preparing and no presents. No one was thinking of hanging his stockings up. The Hall was not decorated, neither were the churches; indeed, there were no churches to decorate, for, as you remember, the people in this kingdom knew nothing about Christmas.

The Council sat and waited in the big bare Hall.

At last the great doors were flung open, there was a blast of trumpets, and the messenger appeared.

He was tall and fair, and held himself proudly. His eyes were bright and shining and there was a smile upon his face. He was completely dressed in bright green and the Council noted with astonishment that he was without armour of any kind. He wore neither breastplate, shield nor helmet; he had neither sword by his side, nor spurs on his feet. He was bare-headed, and in his right hand he carried something green, horny and prickly, with little red dots on it.

Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walked with firm and steady step up the long Hall between the rows of armed warriors.

As he passed the Youngest Princess she blushed deeply, but he did not seem to notice her.

When he reached the throne he bowed low before the King and Queen, and laid the prickly object on the table before them.

“Your Majesty,” said he in a clear, ringing voice. “From the King of Zowega, greeting! He sends you this token. It is the symbol of the Secret of Happiness.”

The King stared, so did the Queen.

They had expected a Pearl of Great Price, accompanied by a scroll on which was written the Secret of Happiness, and the King of Zowega had sent them this!

Amid dead silence the King took the token up in his hands in order to examine it more carefully.

He dropped it hastily, for it pricked him, and little drops of blood were seen starting from his hand.

“Highty-tighty!” said he. “’Tis surely some kind of beast and a symbol of war, for it pricked me right smartly. Truly the King of Zowega deals in riddles which I for one cannot read! Take it, my dear,” added he to the Queen and pointing to the token; “perchance your quick wits may be able to understand this mystery.”

She picked up the token and examined it carefully.

It rather resembled the branch of a tree, but the leaves were thick and resisting and edged with very sharp spikes, and there was on it a cluster of round, bright red objects like tiny balls. But even as it had pricked the King so did it prick her, and she dropped it hastily into the lap of the Eldest Princess, who was sitting beside her.

“Paradighty!” exclaimed the Queen in her own language. “It is certainly a beast. See, it has horns!” and she pointed to the spikes.

“But I certainly cannot read the riddle—if riddle it be.”

Then it was passed to all the Princesses in turn, but they could not read the token any more than could the King and Queen. At last it reached the Youngest Princess, and, though it pricked her little hands sorely, she took it up tenderly and kissed it.

“’Tis a token of love,” said she.

The messenger turned his shining eyes full upon her.

“The Princess has read the riddle of the token aright,” said he, and he stepped forward as though to kiss her hand.

“Stay!” said the King imperiously springing to his feet. “A token of love, forsooth! But I sent the King of Zowega a Declaration of War! What does he mean by sending me a token of love? The Princess must certainly be mistaken—and as for you,” he continued, turning fiercely to the messenger, “you shall be marched off to prison until we have had time to consult with our Wise Men as to the real meaning of this extraordinary token.”

So there and then the messenger was marched off to spend the night in prison, and all the Wise Men in the kingdom were bidden to appear in the Council Chamber the very next day, especially one very old Wise Man from the East who was reputed to be wiser than all the others put together.

The next day, of course, was Christmas Day, but, as these people had never heard of Christmas, there were no bells ringing, no carols were sung, and there was neither holly, ivy nor mistletoe upon the walls.

Slowly and painfully the Wise Men began to arrive.

They were all dressed alike, in black flowing robes, and on their heads they wore long pointed black caps covered with weird devices.

The very old Wise Man from the East wore a red pointed cap, but in all other respects was dressed just like the others.

They assembled round a large circular table at one end of the Hall. In the middle of the table was placed the token.

At the other end of the Hall were gathered the warriors, and above them on a double throne sat the King and Queen with the Princesses grouped on either side of the dais.

The Wise Men examined the token in silence.

“’Tis a curious beast,” said one of them at last.

“Of a new and quite unheard-of species,” said another.

“It has neither legs nor tail,” said a third.

“Yet it has a number of globular red eyes,” said a fourth.

“And it certainly has horns,” said a fifth.

And so said they all, until it came to the turn of the very old Wise Man from the East.

He looked long at the token.

“It has horns,” said he at last, “but it is not a beast.”

“Not a beast!” said they, one to the other.

“But what is it then?”

“It is a token of love,” said he.

“Highty-tighty,” interrupted the King. “Read us then the full meaning of the token.”

“I cannot,” said the very old Wise Man; “but let the youth be brought hither who carried it. He will be able to explain it more fully than I.”

“Paradighty!” said the Queen in her own language. “Why did we not think of that before! Fetch him back again at once!”

So two of the warriors fetched the youth from prison, and he was soon standing before the Assembly, with his head held as high and his eyes as bright and shining as before.

“Read us the token!” commanded the King.

The youth bowed low. “The Princess read it aright yesterday. It is a token of love.”

“Explain yourself!” said the King. “How can a beast with horns be a token of love?”

The youth drew himself up to his full height.

“It is not a beast,” said he. “It is the branch of a holly-tree. On this day of the year, which in my country we call Christmas Day, our people decorate their houses with branches of this holly or holy tree as a token of love and peace and good-will. This is the message that I have brought to you—a message that we in our country know very well, but which you have never heard before.”

The King and the Warriors, the Wise Men, the Queen and Princesses all listened to his words in silence.

When he had ended there was a long pause.

“And in what particular way does your message affect us?” said the King at last.

“Thus, your Majesty,” answered the youth, approaching the Youngest Princess and taking both her hands in his, “on this day I, Prince Moldo, would have peace and good-will between my kingdom and your kingdom; and I would seal it for ever by taking the Youngest Princess home with me as my bride. You, O King, recognized me not, for I have much changed since I lived here with her for playfellow, but in all my wanderings I found a Pearl of no greater price than this, and I would proclaim to all the world that the Secret of Happiness is Love.”

So on that very Christmas Day they were married, amid great rejoicings, and war ceased throughout the kingdom. And on every Christmas Day for ever after, the people of that country decorated their houses with holly, the symbol of love and peace and good-will, and wished each other a Merry Christmas, even as I do now to you.

THE WILLOW MAN

THE IVY GREEN

LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS

Amy Steedman

Of all the saints that little children love is there any to compare with Santa Claus? The very sound of his name has magic in it, and calls up visions of well-filled stockings, with the presents we particularly want peeping over the top, or hanging out at the side, too big to go into the largest sock. Besides, there is something so mysterious and exciting about Santa Claus, for no one seems to have ever seen him. But we picture him to ourselves as an old man with a white beard, whose favourite way of coming into our rooms is down the chimney, bringing gifts for the good children and punishments for the bad.

Yet this Santa Claus, in whose name the presents come to us at Christmas time, is a very real saint, and we can learn a great deal about him, only we must remember that his true name is Saint Nicholas. Perhaps the little children, who used to talk of him long ago, found Saint Nicholas too difficult to say, and so called him their dear Santa Claus. But we learn, as we grow older, that Nicholas is his true name, and that he is a real person who lived long years ago, far away in the East.

The father and mother of Nicholas were noble and very rich, but what they wanted most of all was to have a son. They were Christians, so they prayed to God for many years that He would give them their hearts’ desire; and when at last Nicholas was born, they were the happiest people in the world.

They thought there was no one like their boy; and indeed, he was wiser and better than most children, and never gave them a moment’s trouble. But alas, while he was still a child, a terrible plague swept over the country, and his father and mother died, leaving him quite alone.

All the great riches which his father had possessed were left to Nicholas, and among other things he inherited three bars of gold. These golden bars were his greatest treasure, and he thought more of them than all the other riches he possessed.

Now in the town where Nicholas lived there dwelt a nobleman with three daughters. They had once been very rich, but great misfortunes had overtaken the father, and now they were all so poor they had scarcely enough to live upon.

At last a day came when there was not even bread enough to eat, and the daughters said to their father:

“Let us go into the streets and beg, or do anything to get a little money, that we may not starve.”

But the father answered:

“Not to-night. I cannot bear to think of it. Wait at least until to-morrow. Something may happen to save my daughters from such disgrace.”

Now, just as they were talking together, Nicholas happened to be passing, and as the window was open he heard all that the poor father said. It seemed terrible to think that a noble family should be so poor and actually in want of bread, and Nicholas tried to plan how it would be possible to help them. He knew they would be much too proud to take money from him, so he had to think of some other way. Then he remembered his golden bars, and that very night he took one of them and went secretly to the nobleman’s house, hoping to give the treasure without letting the father or daughters know who brought it.

To his joy Nicholas discovered that a little window had been left open, and by standing on tiptoe he could reach it. So he lifted the golden bar and slipped it through the window, never waiting to hear what became of it, in case any one should see him. (And now do you see the reason why the visits of Santa Claus are so mysterious?)

Inside the house the poor father sat sorrowfully watching, while his children slept. He wondered if there was any hope for them anywhere, and he prayed earnestly that heaven would send help. Suddenly something fell at his feet, and to his amazement and joy, he found it was a bar of pure gold.

“My child,” he cried, as he showed his eldest daughter the shining gold, “God has heard my prayer and has sent this from heaven. Now we shall have enough and to spare. Call your sisters that we may rejoice together, and I will go instantly and change this treasure.”

The precious golden bar was soon sold to a money-changer, who gave so much for it that the family were able to live in comfort and have all that they needed. And not only was there enough to live upon, but so much was over that the father gave his eldest daughter a large dowry, and very soon she was happily married.

When Nicholas saw how much happiness his golden bar had brought to the poor nobleman he determined that the second daughter should have a dowry too. So he went as before and found the little window again open, and was able to throw in the second golden bar as he had done the first. This time the father was dreaming happily, and did not find the treasure until he awoke in the morning. Soon afterwards the second daughter had her dowry and was married too.

The father now began to think that, after all, it was not usual for golden bars to fall from heaven, and he wondered if by any chance human hands had placed them in his room. The more he thought of it the stranger it seemed, and he made up his mind to keep watch every night, in case another golden bar should be sent as a portion for his youngest daughter.

And so when Nicholas went the third time and dropped the last bar through the little window, the father came quickly out, and before Nicholas had time to hide, caught him by his cloak.

“O Nicholas,” he cried, “is it thou who hast helped us in our need? Why didst thou hide thyself?” And then he fell on his knees and began to kiss the hands that had helped him so graciously.

But Nicholas bade him stand up and give thanks to God instead, warning him to tell no one the story of the golden bars.

This was only one of the many kind acts Nicholas loved to do, and it was no wonder that he was beloved by all who knew him.

Soon afterwards Nicholas made up his mind to enter God’s service as a priest. He longed above all things to leave the world and live as a hermit in the desert, but God came to him in a vision and told him he must stay in the crowded cities and do his work among the people. Still his desire to see the deserts and the hermits who lived there was so great that he went off on a journey to Egypt and the Holy Land. But remembering what God had bade him do he did not stay there but returned to his own country.

On the way home a terrific storm arose, and it seemed as if the ship he was in must be lost. The sailors could do nothing, and great waves dashed over the deck, filling the ship with water. But just as all had given up hope, Nicholas knelt and prayed to God to save them, and immediately a calm fell upon the angry sea. The winds sank to rest and the waves ceased to lash the sides of the ship so that they sailed smoothly on, and all danger passed.

Thus Nicholas returned home in safety, and went to live in the city of Myra. His ways were so quiet and humble that no one knew much about him, until it came to pass one day that the Archbishop of Myra died. Then all the priests met to choose another archbishop, and it was made known to them by a sign from heaven that the first man who should enter the church next morning should be the bishop whom God had chosen.

Now Nicholas used to spend most of his nights in prayer and always went very early to church, so next morning just as the sun was rising and the bells began to ring for the early mass, he was seen coming up to the church door and was the first to enter. As he knelt down quietly to say his prayers as usual, what was his surprise to meet a company of priests who hailed him as their new archbishop, chosen by God to be their leader and guide. So Nicholas was made Archbishop of Myra to the joy of all in the city who knew and loved him.

Not long after this there was great trouble in the town of Myra, for the harvests of that country had failed and a terrible famine swept over the land. Nicholas, as a good bishop should, felt the suffering of his people as if it were his own, and did all he could to help them.

He knew that they must have corn or they would die, so he went to the harbour where two ships lay filled with grain, and asked the captains if they would sell him their cargo. They told the bishop they would willingly do so, but it was already sold to merchants of another country and they dared not sell it over again.

“Take no thought of that,” said Nicholas, “only sell me some of thy corn for my starving people, and I promise thee that there shall be nought wanting when thou shalt arrive at thy journey’s end.”

The captains believed in the bishop’s promise and gave him as much corn as he asked. And behold! when they came to deliver their cargo to the owners, there was not a bag lacking.

There are many stories told about the good bishop. Like his Master, he ever went about doing good; and when he died, there were a great many legends told about him, for the people loved to believe that their bishop still cared for them and would come to their aid. We do not know if all these legends are true, but they show how much Saint Nicholas was loved and honoured even after his death, and how every one believed in his power to help them.

Here is one of the stories which all children who love Saint Nicholas will like to hear.

There was once a nobleman who had no children and who longed for a son above everything else in the world. Night and day he prayed to Saint Nicholas that he would grant him his request, and at last a son was born. He was a beautiful child, and the father was so delighted and so grateful to the saint who had listened to his prayers that, every year on the child’s birthday, he made a great feast in honour of Saint Nicholas and a grand service was held in the church.

Now the Evil One grew angry each year when this happened, for it made many people go to church and honour the good saint, neither of which things pleased the Evil One at all. So each year he tried to think of some plan that would put an end to these rejoicings, and he decided at last that if only he could do some evil to the child the parents would blame Saint Nicholas and all would be well.

It happened just then to be the boy’s sixth birthday and a greater feast than ever was being held. It was late in the afternoon, and the gardener and porter and all the servants were away keeping holiday, too. So no one noticed a curious-looking pilgrim who came and sat close to the great iron gates which led into the courtyard. He had on the ordinary robe of a poor pilgrim, but the hood was drawn so far over his face that nothing but a dark shadow could be seen inside. And indeed that was as well, for this pilgrim was a demon in disguise, and his wicked, black face would have frightened any one who saw it. He could not enter the courtyard for the great gates were always kept locked, and, as you know, the porter was away that day, feasting with all the other servants.

But, before very long, the little boy grew weary of his birthday feast, and, having had all he wanted he begged to be allowed to go to play in the garden. His parents knew that the gardener always looked after him there, so they told him he might go. They forgot that the gardener was not there just then.

The child played happily alone for some time and then wandered into the courtyard, and looking out of the gate saw a poor pilgrim resting there.

“What are you doing here?” asked the child, “and why do you sit so still?”

“I am a poor pilgrim,” answered the demon, trying to make his harsh voice sound as gentle as possible, “and I have come all the way from Rome. I am resting here because I am so weary and footsore and have had nothing to eat all day.”

“I will let you in, and take you to my father,” said the child; “this is my birthday, and no one must go hungry to-day.”

But the demon pretended he was too weak to walk, and begged the boy to bring some food out to him.

Then the child ran back to the banquet hall in a great hurry and said to his father:

“O father, there is a poor pilgrim from Rome sitting outside our gate, and he is so hungry, may I take him some of my birthday feast?”

The father was very pleased to think that his little son should care for the poor and wish to be kind, so he willingly gave his permission and told one of the servants to give the child all that he wanted.

Then as the demon sat eating the good things he began to question the boy and tried to find out all that he could about him.

“Do you often play in the garden?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the child. “I play there whenever I may, for in the midst of the lawn there is a beautiful fountain, and the gardener makes me boats to sail on the water.”

“Will he make you one to-day?” asked the demon quickly.

“He is not here to-day,” answered the child, “for this is a holiday for every one and I am quite alone.”

Then the demon rose to his feet slowly and said he felt so much better after the good food that he thought he could walk a little and would like very much to come in and see the beautiful garden and the fountain he had heard about.

So the child climbed up and with great difficulty drew back the bolts. The great gates swung open and the demon walked in.

As they went along together towards the fountain the child held out his little hand to lead the pilgrim, but even the demon shrunk from touching anything so pure and innocent, and folded his arms under his robe, so that the child could only hold by a fold of his cloak.

“What strange kind of feet you have,” said the child as they walked along; “they look as if they belonged to an animal.”

“Yes, they are curious,” said the demon, “but it is just the way they are made.”

Then the child began to notice the demon’s hands, which were even more curious than his feet, and just like paws of a bear. But he was too courteous to say anything about them, when he had already mentioned the feet.

Just then they came to the fountain, and with a sudden movement the demon threw back his hood and showed his dreadful face. And before the child could scream he was seized by those hairy hands and thrown into the water.

But just at that moment the gardener was returning to his work and saw from a distance what had happened. He ran as fast as he could, but he only got to the fountain in time to see the demon vanish, while the child’s body was floating on the water. Very quickly he drew him out, and carried him, all dripping wet, up to the castle, where they tried to bring him back to life. But, alas! it all seemed of no use; he neither moved nor breathed, and the day that had begun with such rejoicing, ended in the bitterest woe. The poor parents were heart-broken, but they did not quite lose hope and prayed earnestly to Saint Nicholas who had given them the child, that he would restore their boy to them again.

As they prayed by the side of the little bed where the body of the child lay, they thought something moved, and to their joy and surprise the boy opened his eyes and sat up, and in a short time was as well as ever.

They asked him eagerly what had happened, and he told them all about the pilgrim with the queer feet and hands, who had gone with him to the fountain and had then thrown back his hood and shown his terrible face. After that he could remember nothing until he found himself in a beautiful garden, where the loveliest flowers grew. There were lilies like white stars, and roses far more beautiful than any he had ever seen in his own garden, and the leaves of the trees shone like silver and gold. It was all so beautiful that for a while he forgot his home, and when he did remember and tried to find his way back, he grew bewildered and did not know in what direction to turn. As he was looking about, an old man came down the garden path and smiled so kindly upon him that he trusted him at once. This old man was dressed in the robes of a bishop, and had a long white beard and the sweetest old face the child had ever seen.

“Art thou searching for the way home?” the old man asked. “Dost thou wish to leave this beautiful garden and go back to thy father and mother?”

“I want to go home,” said the child, with a sob in his voice, “but I cannot find the way, and I am, oh, so tired of searching for it.”

Then the old man stooped down and lifted him in his arms, and the child laid his head on the old man’s shoulder, and, weary with his wandering, fell fast asleep and remembered nothing more till he woke up in his own little bed.

Then the parents knew that Saint Nicholas had heard their prayers and had gone to fetch the child from the Heavenly Garden and brought him back to them.

So they were more grateful to the good saint than ever, and they loved and honoured him even more than they had done before; which was all the reward the demon got for his wicked doings.

That is one of the many stories told after the death of Saint Nicholas, and it ever helped and comforted his people to think that, though they could no longer see him he would love and protect them still.

Young maidens in need of help remembered the story of the golden bars and felt sure the good saint would not let them want. Sailors tossing on the stormy waves thought of that storm which had sunk to rest at the prayer of Saint Nicholas. Poor prisoners with no one to take their part were comforted by the thought of those other prisoners whom he had saved. And little children perhaps have remembered him most of all, for when the happy Christmas time draws near, who is so much in their thoughts as Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as they call him? Perhaps they are a little inclined to think of him as some good magician who comes to fill their stockings with gifts, but they should never forget that he was the kind bishop who, in olden days, loved to make the little ones happy. There are some who think that even now he watches over and protects little children, and for that reason he is called their patron saint.

CHRISTMAS BELLS

A NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS

Anna R. Annan

Not very long ago, and not far from here, lived a little boy named Bobby Morgan. Now I must tell at once how Bobby looked, else how will you know him if you meet him in the street? Blue-eyed was Rob, and fair-haired, and pug-nosed—just the sweetest trifle, his mother said.

Well, the day before Christmas, Rob thought it would be a fine thing to run down Main Street and see what was going on. After dinner his mother put on his fur cap and bright scarf, and filled his pockets with crackers and cookies. She told him to be very polite to Santa Claus if he should happen to meet him.

Off he trotted, merry as a cricket, with now a skip and now a slide. At every corner he held his breath, half expecting to run into Santa himself. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and he soon found himself before the gay windows of a toy shop.

There he saw a spring hobby-horse, as large as a Shetland pony, all saddled and bridled, too,—lacking nothing but a rider. Rob pressed his nose against the glass, and tried to imagine the feelings of a boy in that saddle. He must have stood there all day, had not a ragged little fellow pulled his coat. “Wouldn’t you jist like that popgun?” he piped.

“Catch me looking at popguns!” said Rob shortly. But when he saw how tattered the boy’s jacket was he said more softly, “P’r’raps you’d like a cooky.”

“Try me wunst!” said the shrill little voice.

There was a queer lump in Rob’s throat as he emptied one pocket of its cakes and thrust them into the dirty, eager hands. Then he marched down the street without so much as glancing at that glorious steed again.

Brighter and brighter grew the windows, more and more full of toys. At last our boy stood, with open eyes and mouth, before a great store lighted from top to bottom, for it was growing dark. Rob came near taking off his cap and saying, “How do you do, sir?”

To whom, you ask. Why, to an image of Santa Claus, the size of life, holding a Christmas tree filled with wonderful fruit.

Soon a happy thought struck Rob. “Surely this must be Santa Claus’s own store, where he comes to fill his basket with toys! What if I were to hide there and wait for him?”

As I said, he was a brave little chap, and he walked straight into the store with the stream of big people. Everybody was busy. No one had time to look at our mite of a Rob. He tried in vain to find a quiet corner, till he caught sight of some winding stairs that led up to the next story. He crept up, scarcely daring to breathe.

What a fairyland! Toys everywhere! Oceans of toys! Nothing but toys, excepting one happy little boy. Think of fifty great rocking-horses in a pile; of whole flocks of woolly sheep and curly dogs with the real bark in them; stacks of drums; regiments of soldiers armed to the teeth; companies of firemen drawing their hose carts; no end of wheelbarrows and velocipedes!

Rob screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as a gentle hint that they had better not play him any tricks, and then stared with might and main.

Suddenly Rob thought he heard a footstep on the stairs. Fearing to be caught, he hid behind a baby-wagon. No one came, however, and as he felt rather hungry, he took out the remaining cakes and had a fine supper.

Why didn’t Santa Claus come?

Rob was really getting sleepy. He stretched out his tired legs, and, turning one of the woolly sheep on its side, pillowed his curly head upon it. It was so nice to lie there, looking up at the ceiling hung with toys, and with the faint hum of voices in his ears. The blue eyes grew more and more heavy. Rob was fast asleep.

Midnight! The bells rang loud and clear, as if they had great news to tell the world. What noise is that besides the bells? And look, oh, look! Who is that striding up the room with a great basket on his back? He has stolen his coat from a polar bear, and his cap, too, I declare! His boots are of red leather and reach to his knees. His coat and cap are trimmed with wreaths of holly, bright with scarlet berries.

Good sir, let us see your face—why! that is the best part of him,—so round, and so ruddy, such twinkling eyes, and such a merry look about those dimples! But see his long white beard; can he be old?

Oh, very, very old. Over nineteen hundred years. Is that not a long life, little ones? But he has a young heart, this dear old man, and a kind one. Can you guess his name? “Hurrah for Santa Claus!” Right—the very one.

He put his basket down near Robby, and with his back turned to him shook the snow from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on Rob’s face and roused him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw the white figure, but did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should vanish.

But bless his big heart! He had no idea of vanishing till his night’s work was done. He took a large book from his pocket, opened to the first page, and looked at it very closely.

“Tommy Turner,” was written at the top, and just below was a little map—yes, there was Tommy’s heart mapped out like a country. Part of the land was marked good, part of it bad. Here and there were little flags to point out places where battles had been fought during the year. Some of them were black and some white; wherever a good feeling had won the fight there was a white one.

“Tommy Turner,” said Santa Claus aloud, “six white flags, three black ones. That leaves only three presents for Tommy; but we must see what can be done for him.”

So he bustled among the toys, and soon had a ball, a horse, and a Noah’s ark tied up in a parcel, which he tossed into the basket.

Name after name was read off, some of them belonging to Rob’s playmates, and you may be sure that the little boy listened with his heart in his mouth.

“Robby Morgan!” said Santa Claus.

In his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did not notice it.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven”—Rob’s breath came very short—“whites!”

He almost clapped his hands.

“One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder what that little chap would like—here’s a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he hadn’t run away from school that day and then told a lie about it I’d give him a rocking-horse.”

Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.

“But, bless him! he’s a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do better next year if I give him the horse.”

That was too much for our boy. With a “Hurrah!” he jumped up and turned a somersault right at Santa Claus’s feet.

“Stars and stripes!” cried Santa. “What’s this?”

“Come along, I’ll show you the one!” cried Rob.

Santa Claus allowed himself to be led off to the pile of horses. You may believe that Rob’s sharp eyes soon picked out the one with the longest tail and the thickest mane.

“Well, he beats all the boys that ever I saw! What shall I do with the little spy?”

“Oh, dear Santa Claus,” cried Robby, hugging the red boots, “do just take me along with you. I’ll stick tight when you slide down the chimney.”

“Yes, I guess you will stick tight—in the chimney, my little man.”

“I mean to your back,” half sobbed Rob.

Santa Claus can’t bear to see little folks in trouble, so he took the boy into his arms, and asked where he wanted to go.

“To Tommy Turner’s, and, oh, you know, that boy in the awful old jacket that likes popguns,” was the breathless reply.

Of course he knew him, for he knows every boy and girl in Christendom; so a popgun was added to the medley of toys. Santa Claus then strapped Rob and the basket on his back. He next crept through an open window to a ladder he had placed there, down which he ran as nimbly as a squirrel. The reindeer before the sledge were in a hurry to be off, and tinkled their silver bells right merrily. An instant more and they were snugly tucked up in the white robes; an instant more and they were flying like the wind over the snow.

Ah! Tommy’s home. Santa Claus sprang out, placed the light ladder against the house, and before Rob could wink a good fair wink they were on the roof, making for the chimney. Whether it swallowed him, or he swallowed it, is still a puzzle to Robby.

Tommy lay sleeping in his little bed and dreaming of a merry Christmas. His rosy mouth was puckered into something between a whistle and a smile. Rob longed to give him a friendly punch, but Santa Claus shook his head. They filled his stocking and hurried away, for empty little stockings the world over were waiting for that generous hand.

On they sped again, never stopping until they came to a wretched little hovel. A black pipe instead of a chimney was sticking through the roof.

Rob thought, “Now I guess he’ll have to give it up.” But no, he softly pushed the door open and stepped in.

On a ragged cot lay the urchin to whom Robby had given the cookies. One of them, half eaten, was still clutched in his hand. Santa Claus gently opened the other little fist and put the popgun into it.

“Give him my drum,” whispered Rob, and Santa Claus, without a word, placed it near the rumpled head.

How swiftly they flew under the bright stars! How sweetly rang the bells!

When Santa Claus reined up at Robby’s door he found his little comrade fast asleep. He laid him tenderly in his crib, and drew off a stocking, which he filled with the smaller toys. The rocking-horse he placed close to the crib, that Rob might mount him on Christmas morning.

A kiss, and he was gone.

P.S.—Rob’s mother says it was all a dream, but he declares that “It’s true as Fourth of July!” I prefer to take his word for it.

A CHILD’S THOUGHTS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS

CHARITY IN A COTTAGE

Jean Ingelow

The charity of the rich is much to be commended; but how beautiful is the charity of the poor!

Call to mind the coldest day you ever experienced. Think of the bitter wind and driving snow; think how you shook and shivered—how the sharp white particles were driven up against your face—how, within doors, the carpets were lifted like billows along the floors, the wind howled and moaned in the chimneys, windows cracked, doors rattled, and every now and then heavy lumps of snow came thundering down with a dull weight from the roof.

Now hear my story.

In one of the broad, open plains of Lincolnshire, there is a long reedy sheet of water, a favourite resort of wild ducks. At its northern extremity stand two mud cottages, old, and out of repair.

One bitter, bitter night, when the snow lay three feet deep on the ground, and a cutting east wind was driving it about, and whistling in the dry frozen reeds by the water’s edge, and swinging the bare willow trees till their branches swept the ice, an old woman sat spinning in one of these cottages before a moderately cheerful fire. Her kettle was singing on the coals, she had a reed candle, or home-made rushlight, on her table, but the full moon shone in, and was the brighter light of the two. These two cottages were far from any road, or any other habitation; the old woman was, therefore, surprised, in an old northern song, by a sudden knock at the door.

It was loud and impatient, not like the knock of her neighbours in the other cottage; but the door was bolted, and the old woman rose, and shuffling to the window, looked out and saw a shivering figure, apparently that of a youth.

“Trampers!” said the old woman, sententiously, “tramping folks be not wanted here.” So saying she went back to the fire without deigning to answer the door.

The youth upon this tried the door, and called to her to beg admittance. She heard him rap the snow from his shoes against her lintel, and again knock as if he thought she was deaf, and he should surely gain admittance if he could make her hear.

The old woman, surprised at his audacity, went to the casement and with all the pride of possession, opened it and inquired his business.

“Good woman,” the stranger began, “I only want a seat at your fire.”

“Nay,” said the old woman, giving effect to her words by her uncouth dialect, “thou’ll get no shelter here; I’ve nought to give to beggars—a dirty, wet critter,” she continued wrathfully, slamming to the window. “It’s a wonder where he found any water, too, seeing it freeze so hard a body can get none for the kettle, saving what’s broken up with a hatchet.”

The stranger turned very hastily from her door and waded through the deep snow towards the other cottage. The bitter wind helped to drive him towards it. It looked no less poor than the first; and when he had tried the door and found it bolted and fast, his heart sank within him. His hand was so numbed with cold that he had made scarcely any noise; he tried again.

A rush candle was burning within and a matronly looking woman sat before the fire. She held an infant in her arms and had dropped asleep; but his third knock aroused her, and wrapping her apron round the child, she opened the door a very little way, and demanded what he wanted.

“Good woman,” the youth began, “I have had the misfortune to fall in the water this bitter night, and I am so numbed I can scarcely walk.”

The woman gave him a sudden earnest look and then sighed.

“Come in,” she said; “thou art so nigh the size of my Jem, I thought at first it was him come home from sea.”

The youth stepped across the threshold, trembling with cold and wet; and no wonder, for his clothes were completely encased in wet mud, and the water dripped from them with every step he took on the sanded floor.

“Thou art in a sorry plight,” said the woman, “and it be two miles to the nighest house; come and kneel down afore the fire; thy teeth chatter so pitifully I can scarce bear to hear them.”

She looked at him more attentively and saw that he was a mere boy, not more than sixteen years of age. Her motherly heart was touched for him. “Art hungry?” she asked, turning to the table. “Thou art wet to the skin. What hast been doing?”

“Shooting wild ducks,” said the boy.

“Oh,” said the hostess, “thou art one of the keeper’s boys, then, I reckon?”

He followed the direction of her eyes, and saw two portions of bread set upon the table, with a small piece of bacon on each.

“My master be very late,” she observed, for charity did not make her use elegant language, and by her master she meant her husband; “but thou art welcome to my bit and sup, for I was waiting for him. Maybe it will put a little warmth in thee to eat and drink.” So saying, she placed before him her own share of the supper.

“Thank you,” said the boy; “but I am so wet I am making quite a pool before your fire with the drippings from my clothes.”

“Aye, they are wet indeed,” said the woman, and rising again she went to an old box, in which she began to search, and presently came to the fire with a perfectly clean check shirt in her hand and a tolerably good suit of clothes.

“There,” said she, showing them with no small pride, “these be my master’s Sunday clothes, and if thou wilt be very careful of them I’ll let thee wear them till thine be dry.” She then explained that she was going to put her “bairn” to bed, and proceeded up a ladder into the room above, leaving the boy to array himself in these respectable garments.

When she had come down her guest had dressed himself in the labourer’s clothes; he had had time to warm himself, and he was eating and drinking with hungry relish. He had thrown his muddy clothes in a heap upon the floor. As she looked at him she said:

“Ah, lad, lad, I doubt that head been under water: thy poor mother would have been sorely frightened if she could have seen thee a while ago.”

“Yes,” said the boy; and in imagination the cottage dame saw this same mother, a careworn, hard-working creature like herself; while the youthful guest saw in imagination a beautiful and courtly lady; and both saw the same love, the same anxiety, the same terror, at sight of a lonely boy struggling in the moonlight through breaking ice, with no one to help him, catching at the frozen reeds, and then creeping up, shivering and benumbed, to a cottage door.

But, even as she stooped, the woman forgot her imagination, for she had taken a waistcoat into her hands, such as had never passed between them before; a gold pencil-case dropped from the pocket; and on the floor amidst a heap of mud that covered the outer garments, lay a white shirt sleeve, so white, indeed, and so fine, that she thought it could hardly be worn by a squire!

She glanced from the clothes to the owner. He had thrown down his cap, and his fair curly hair and broad forehead convinced her that he was of gentle birth; but while she hesitated to sit down, he placed a chair for her, and said with boyish frankness:

“I say, what a lonely place this is! If you had not let me in, the water would have frozen me before I reached home. Catch me duck-shooting again by myself!”

“It’s very cold sport that, sir,” said the woman.

The young gentleman assented most readily, and asked if he might stir the fire.

“And welcome, sir,” said the woman.

She felt a curiosity to know who he was, and he partly satisfied her by remarking that he was staying at Deen Hall, a house about five miles off, adding that in the morning he had broken a hole in the ice very near the decoy, but it iced over so fast, that in the dusk he had missed it, and fallen in, for it would not bear him. He had made some landmarks, and taken every proper precaution, but he supposed the sport had excited him so much that in the moonlight he had passed them by.

He then told her of his attempt to get shelter in the other cottage.

“Sir,” said the woman, “if you had said you were a gentleman——”

The boy laughed. “I don’t think I knew it, my good woman,” he replied, “my senses were so benumbed; for I was some time struggling at the water’s edge among the broken ice, and then I believe I was nearly an hour creeping up to your cottage door. I remember it all rather indistinctly, but as soon as I had felt the fire and eaten something I was a different creature.”

As they still talked, the husband came in; and while he was eating his supper it was agreed that he should walk to Deen Hall, and let its inmates know of the gentleman’s safety. When he was gone the woman made up the fire with all the coal that remained to the poor household, and crept up to bed, leaving her guest to lie down and rest before it.

In the grey dawn the labourer returned, with a servant leading a horse, and bringing a fresh suit of clothes.

The young man took his leave with many thanks, slipping three half-crowns into the woman’s hand, probably all the money he had about him. And I must not forget to mention that he kissed the baby; for when she tells the story, the mother always adverts to that circumstance with great pride, adding that her child, being as “clean as wax, was quite fit to be kissed by anybody.”

“Misses,” said her husband, as they stood in the doorway looking after their guest, “who dost think that be?”

“I don’t know,” answered the misses.

“Then I’ll just tell thee; that be young Lord W——; so thou mayest be a proud woman; thou sits and talks with lords, and then asks them to supper—ha, ha!”

So saying, her master shouldered his spade and went his way, leaving her clinking the three half-crowns in her hand, and considering what she should do with them.

Her neighbour from the other cottage presently stepped in, and when she heard the tale and saw the money her heart was ready to break with envy and jealousy.

“Oh, to think that good luck should have come to her door, and she should have been so foolish as to turn it away! Seven shillings and sixpence for a morsel of food and a night’s shelter—why it was nearly a week’s wages!”

So there, as they both supposed, the matter ended, and the next week the frost was sharper than ever. Sheep were frozen in the fenny field and poultry on their perches, but the good woman had walked to the nearest town and bought a blanket. It was a welcome addition to their bed covering, and it was many a long year since they had been so comfortable.

But it chanced one day at noon that, looking out at her casement she spied three young gentlemen skating along the ice towards her cottage. They sprang on to the bank, took off their skates, and made for her door. The young nobleman, for he was one of the three, informed her that he had had such a severe cold he could not come to see her before. “He spoke as free and pleasantly,” she said, in telling the story, “as if I had been a lady, and no less, and then he brought a parcel out of his pocket, saying, ‘I have been over to B—— and brought you a book for a keepsake, and I hope you will accept it;’ and then they all talked as pretty as could be for a matter of ten minutes, and went away. So I waited till my master came home, and we opened the parcel, and there was a fine Bible inside, all over gold and red morocco, and my name and his name written inside; and, bless him, a ten-pound note doubled down over the names. I’m sure, when I thought he was a poor forlorn creature, he was kindly welcome. So my master laid out part of the money in tools, and we rented a garden; and he goes over on market days to sell what we grow, so now, thank God, we want for nothing.”

This is how she generally concludes the little history, never failing to add that the young lord kissed her baby.

But I have not yet told you what I thought the best part of the story. When this poor Christian woman was asked what had induced her to take in a perfect stranger and trust him with the best clothing her home afforded, she answered simply, “Well, I saw him shivering and shaking, so I thought, thou shalt come in here, for the sake of Him that had not where to lay His head.”

The old woman in the other cottage may open her door every night of her future life to some forlorn beggar, but it is all but certain that she will never open it to a nobleman in disguise!

Let us do good, not to receive more good in return, but as evidence of gratitude for what has been already bestowed. In a few words, let it be “all for love and nothing for reward.”

“The most excellent gift is charity.”

THE WAITS

WHERE LOVE IS THERE GOD IS ALSO

Leo Tolstoi

Martuin, the shoemaker, lived in a city of Russia. His house was a little basement room with one window. Through this window he used to watch the people walking past. He was so far below the street that from his bench he could see only the feet of the passers-by but he knew them all by their boots. Nearly every pair of boots in the neighbourhood had been in his hands once and again. Some he would half sole, and some he would patch, some he would stitch around, and occasionally he would also put on new uppers. “Ah,” he would say to himself, “there goes the baker. That was a fine piece of leather.” Martuin always had plenty to do because he was a faithful workman, used good materials, and always finished an order as early as he promised it.

In the evening when his work was done he would light his little oil lamp, take his book down from the shelf and begin to read. He had but one book, a Bible, and as he read he thought of the wonderful Christ-child. “Ah,” he cried one night, “if He would only come to me and be my guest. If He should come, I wonder how I should receive Him.” Martuin rested his head upon his hands and dozed. “Martuin,” a voice seemed suddenly to sound in his ears.

He started from his sleep. “Who is here?” He looked around but there was no one.

Again he fell into a doze. Suddenly he plainly heard, “Martuin, ah, Martuin! Look to-morrow on the street. I am coming.”

At daybreak next morning Martuin woke, said his prayer, put his cabbage soup and gruel on to cook and sat down by the window to work. He worked hard but all the time he was thinking of the voice that he had heard. “Was it a dream,” he said to himself, “or is He coming? Shall I really see Him to-day?” When anyone passed by in boots that he did not know he would bend down close to the window so that he could see the face as well as the boots.

By and by an old, old man came along; he carried a shovel. It was Stephanwitch. Martuin knew him by his old felt boots. He was very poor and helped the house porter with all the hard work. Now he began to shovel away the snow from in front of Martuin’s window. Martuin looked up eagerly.

“Pshaw,” said Martuin, “old Stephanwitch is clearing away the snow and I imagined the Christ-child was coming to see me.” He looked again. How old and feeble Stephanwitch looked.

“He is cold and weary,” thought Martuin. “I will call him in and give him a cup of tea, the samovar must be boiling by now.”

He laid down his awl, made the tea, and tapped on the window. “Come in and warm yourself,” he said.

“May Christ reward you for this! My bones ache,” said Stephanwitch.

Stephanwitch shook off the snow and tried to wipe his feet so as not to soil the floor, but he staggered from cold and weariness.

“Never mind that, I will clean it up. We are used to such things. Sit down and drink a cup of tea,” said Martuin heartily.

Martuin filled two cups and handed one to Stephanwitch who drank it eagerly, turned it upside down, and began to express his thanks.

“Have some more?” said Martuin, refilling the cup.

“Are you expecting anyone?” asked Stephanwitch. “I see you keep turning to look on the street.”

“I am ashamed to tell you whom I expect. I am, and I am not, expecting someone. You see, brother, I was reading about the Christ and how He walked on earth and I thought, ‘If He came to me, should I know how to receive Him?’ and I heard a voice, ‘Be on the watch, I shall come to-morrow.’ It is absurd, yet would you believe it, I am expecting Him, the Christ-child.”

Stephanwitch shook his head but said nothing.

Martuin filled his guest’s cup with hot tea and continued, “You see I have an idea He would come to the simple people. He picked out His disciples from simple working people like us. Come, brother, have some more tea.”

But Stephanwitch rose. “Thanks to you, Martuin, for treating me kindly and warming me, soul and body.”

“You are welcome, brother, come again.”

Stephanwitch departed. Martuin put away the dishes and sat down by the window to stitch on a patch. He kept looking out as he stitched.

Two soldiers passed by; one wore boots that Martuin had made; then the master of the next house; then a baker. Then there came a woman in woolen stockings and wooden shoes. Martuin looked up through the window. He saw she was a stranger poorly clad in shabby summer clothes. She had turned her back to the wind and was trying to shelter a little child who was crying.

Martuin went to the door and called out, “Why are you standing there in the cold? Come into my room where it is warm.”

The woman was astonished when she saw the old, old man in his leather apron and big spectacles beckoning and calling to her, but she gladly followed him.

“There,” said Martuin, “sit down near the stove and warm yourself.” Then he brought out bread, poured out cabbage soup, and took up the pot with the gruel.

“Eat, eat,” he said. “I will mind the little one. Tell me, why are you out in this bitter cold?”