Chapter II

As the little visitor stretched out his hands to warm them at the fire, his shadow formed a flickering cross upon the floor. Crescimir noticed this, and also wondering at the mysterious advent of the child, which coming so closely upon his song, caused him almost to think that he must be dreaming.

"Art thou the Christchild?" he said finally, to the little figure which stood with its back toward him gazing up at the branch of hemlock above the fireplace.

The child turned around and looking merrily at Crescimir, broke into a fit of boisterous laughter, but did not answer.

"Thou art not a very polite little boy, to break into a house this way and then not answer a simple question. Thou art no Austrian Christchild, I am sure of that. No matter," he added, as he saw the little face pucker up for a cry, "wait till we are better acquainted and then we can talk it all over."

The child smiled again and made a sign indicating that he wanted the hemlock branch above his head. Crescimir took it down for him and as soon as the little creature received it, he began hopping about the room, holding the branch aloft and humming the melody which Crescimir had just been singing.

"Truly, thou art a strange little elf, but I know how to tell if thou art mortal. Wilt thou have thy supper?" and he held out a spoonful of the bread and milk to the dancing figure. The child immediately stopped his whirling, and running to Crescimir, eagerly ate the food, and then climbing into his lap, sat there quietly, with expectant face as if anticipating a share in the rest of the supper. So Crescimir took one spoonful and the Christchild the next, until the bowl was empty.

"I am glad that thou art come, little one," said Crescimir, as he held the child in his arms, seated in the wooden armchair before the fire. "Thou hast made my Christmas Eve a very pleasant one, but I wish that I could know who thou art and whether thy parents are anxiously searching for thee this stormy night. Canst thou not speak?"

The child shook his golden head solemnly and began throwing bits of the hemlock into the flames, watching the blaze they made as if he could read in it.

Crescimir had spoken in German and the little waif understood him, but it seemed that he was unable to answer except in a cooing sound expressive of his sensations; however, he could sing most sweetly, not articulating, but singing as a bird and making beautiful melody. The song which Crescimir had been singing when he entered, seemed to please his ear greatly and he warbled it over again in his strangely sweet tones. Crescimir sung the song a number of times to him and also many others, some of which with their merry music, breathing fresh from the high Alps, caused his little hand to keep time with the hemlock branch as he joined in the songs with his curious notes.

"Thou art a little elf!" exclaimed Crescimir as he kissed the rosy face. "Thou bringest back all the old days and makest me feel as merry as I used in far off Illyria. Bless thee little Christchild."

The mysterious guest laughed gaily pulling Crescimir's hair and drawing his smooth fingers over the dark, weather beaten face of the man. Then he played horse, riding on Crescimir's knee using the branch for a whip, while Crescimir sang little verses which came to his mind, verses which set to rolicking music he had sung in his old home on feast days at dances in the tavern, accompanied by zither or hackbretl.

"My girl has ta'en her love away,
I'm easier now I guess,
Don't have to go so oft to church,
Nor half so oft confess--
Nor half so oft confess."

The wind blew harder but neither Crescimir nor his guest heeded it, while the roaring of the arroyo and river and the steady pouring of the rain on the roof did not mar their merry making in the least, and they laughed and sung regardless of it all.

"Now I have two girls,
An old one and a new,
So now I need two hearts,
A false one and a true."

He continued:

"Here Heavenly Father,
'T were fine to remain
If for just half an hour
'T would gold dollars rain."

Just then the little cabin shook.

"Strong wind to-night; it is lucky for thee, Christchild, that thou hast found shelter and lucky for me that the evening which promised to be so dull has been a very merry one.

"Don't be so sad, boy,
If she did treat thee rough,
The world is like a hen-roost,
Has pullets quite enough."

Crescimir ceased singing, for the Christchild stopped suddenly in his romping, gazing fixedly with his large, wondering eyes upon the floor.

"What see'st thou, little one?"

The child pointed to the door and Crescimir saw two small streams of white, foamy water pouring in from each side, and the floor was covered. Crescimir quickly placed the Christchild on the table and started to open the door, but before he reached it, the house trembled as if in an earthquake shock and the door fell back into the room with a loud crash, while a volume of seething water washed over it almost throwing him down with its terrible force. The water poured in little jets through the cracks in the walls and rushing into the fireplace put out the flames and left the room in total darkness.

The water rose rapidly and by the time that Crescimir had grasped the form of his little guest and opening one of the windows had drawn himself with his charge upon the roof, the flood had reached the upper sashes.

The cabin swayed to and fro and every moment seemed about to be carried from its foundations. The Christchild made no sound of fear and Crescimir could not see his face, yet he held the long hemlock branch tightly in his little hand.

The roof was firmly built of logs and planks so in case the house fell it could be used as a raft and Crescimir exerting all his strength pulled from the sides the flat boards which held it fixed to the cabin.

As the flood rose higher, he took the Christchild and lying down in the middle of the roof held on firmly.

Suddenly the roof was lifted and whirled down the swollen arroyo into the broad river. Floating logs struck against it, and as they tore along under the bridge they struck against the buttress with terrific force. Onward they were whirled; they could see the lights in the houses of the village and could hear the voices of men and women along the bluffs or in the trees where they had sought shelter.

The rain ceased falling, but the wind did not go down, rolling the waves over their raft. Once they lodged for a moment against a great oak where Crescimir strove in vain to make fast. The tide was too powerful and all went with it whirling blindly onward.