Chapter VII: Part II: Stories to Read and Tell to Children (1)

SELECTION FROM THE BIBLE

LUKE II, 8-20

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace,
Good will toward men.

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

THE FINDING OF THE TREASURE[11]

MARY STEWART

A bright-faced boy stood in the center of a group of ragged children, telling them a story. Behind them were the forlorn shacks of a mining camp, built of odd boards of different colors with tar paper or bits of tin for the roofs. A fluttering line of untidy wash was the only sign of life about the place, for the men were away working in the mines and the women--there were only ten of them in the camp of fifty men--were busy indoors.

It was a desolate scene, but the children seemed to have forgotten it. They were gazing spellbound at the lad in their midst, their minds so full of the picture he was describing that the snowy fields before them and the miserable camp behind them seemed miles away. Instead, they saw what the boy saw as he looked straight before him, gazing into space with a light upon his face as if he were beholding the radiant scene of which he spoke.

“There were angels,” he was saying in a clear, thrilling voice, “hundreds of them, all with glistening wings and faces as light as the sunshine. They made the dark night as bright as day, and when the shepherds saw them they were frightened. But the angels said, ‘Fear not,’ and told them to go to a stable in the city near by, where, lying in a manger, they would find a baby King. So the shepherds hurried up the steep path to the city, carrying the lambs in their arms, and the sky echoed with the angels’ song. It was the gladdest night in the whole world.”

“But that is not all!” cried the children. “Tell us about the wonderful star and the men on camels.”

“Listen,” said the story-teller, although every child was already listening with all his might, “listen to what I am going to tell you to-day. It is the most marvelous thing you have ever heard. In ten days Christmas will be here, although the folks at the camp are so busy and lonesome they have forgotten it. But when I asked my mother how we could ever have a Christmas tree in this far-away place like we used to at home, she said that _perhaps_”--here the lad, Carl, paused a moment, and again he gazed into the distance, his face glowing, “perhaps,” he continued mysteriously, “the glorious star would shine again _here_ to guide, not the wise men on camels, but us--the children--to the birthplace of a little baby!”

“Shall we see the angels too?” questioned a girl, her voice trembling with excitement. “Will the dark sky be bright and full of singing like you said?” demanded another, and “Will the shepherds be there? And the camels? And the men with precious gifts?” asked others.

“Perhaps so,” answered Carl; he did not know, he only knew that they must watch every night now for a new glorious star. Of course that would be the beginning of it all, the beginning of the most wonderful Christmas that had happened since the angels sang to the shepherds on the plains of Bethlehem.

A shrill whistle blew, the call for supper, and the children ran back over the snowy path to the big shack where the men met for meals. They were all seated, talking angrily, when the children entered. One of the men, a leader among them, had just read aloud a letter from the owner of the mine. Such a small amount of gold had been found, the letter said, that unless more was discovered within ten days, the mine would be closed. Also, as the miners had been working on part shares, their wages would be very small, barely enough to pay for their trips back to their homes. A murmur of anger and ugly threats ran around the room. The men had traveled to this desolate spot with the dream of going back rich for life and now, after months of hard, dangerous labor, they would return poorer than when they came. Before the eyes of many of them arose pictures of bare homes where their families were struggling bravely against illness and poverty, counting the days until the miners returned with pockets full of gold.

“As beggars we will never go back!” cried one man. “Better blow up the mine with us in it than see our children starve!” cried another, and then the children, whose fathers were the few who had brought their families with them, rushed into the room, their faces bright with the great hope in their hearts. “Ten days from now will be Christmas!” cried one little lad. “And something wonderful will happen then!” cried another. The men turned upon them savagely. “If any child talks of Christmas again, I’ll give him a licking that will make him forget the day,” exclaimed one man, and another growled, “Ten days from now we’ll all be beggars. Is that what you call ‘something wonderful’ happening?”

To the children, Carl’s story began to seem an idle dream. How could a baby King, a glorious Christ Child, come to this miserable spot, or an angel’s song ring through a camp where, as the night went on, the noise of fighting and swearing echoed more and more wildly?

With a despairing hope of still finding the gold within ten days, the miners went out to their work morning after morning before dawn, and evening after evening they returned, utterly discouraged. It was small wonder that their faces grew rough and fierce and the children crept fearfully out of their way. Their own fathers were even more wretched than the others, for the small wages would not pay the return trip of a whole family and, after ten days were over, they could not live on with no food in that desolate camp. Starvation stared them in the face, and the coming of Christmas meant nothing to them.

Only Carl’s mother thought of it sometimes with a sad little smile, and when Carl questioned her about the star and the baby of whose coming she had spoken, she said softly, “When the Christ Child came His mother also had no clothes in which to dress Him.” Then Carl saw tears shining in her eyes and he dared not question her further, although the one thought in his mind day and night was the coming of the young King.

Late every afternoon the children met beside a group of snow-laden fir trees behind the shacks, and once there, the gloom and terror of the camp slipped from them. The snow-covered mountains glittered in the distance, and Carl told them again and again of the shepherds and the angels.

Then late one evening, while the children watched in breathless excitement, a radiant, glowing star shone forth in the evening sky. It was the same star, they all firmly believed, which had led the wise men so many years ago, and at first they thought with Carl that it had come again to lead them to the cradle of the King. All that night they lay awake on their hard cots, quivering with excitement as they listened for the music of the angels’ song. But only the wrangling of the men echoed through the darkness, and again the children’s bright dreams were overshadowed by the gloom in the lives around them. Still each day they had their hour of happiness beside the ice-hung fir trees, while the star shone forth, and Carl told them of his hopes. Never for a moment did he doubt that the star would lead them to the blessed birthplace, and as the days went by he added other thoughts to his picture.

“When the wise men came they brought presents for Him,” he said one afternoon, “bags of gold, the kind our fathers are looking for, and for which they say they have risked and ruined their lives. Perhaps--perhaps--” his voice was trembling now with the wonder of his hope, “when the Christ Child comes, He may bring to the miners some of the gold the wise men brought to Him!”

The thought was so marvelous that the children planned to tell the men about it, but when they looked up into those grim, lowering faces their hearts failed them and they went quietly to bed.

So nine days slipped by, and the afternoon before Christmas came. The next day, if no gold had been found, the mine would be closed, and the miners went to work that morning in deadly silence, hopeless despair written upon their faces. The snow had fallen heavily all night, and during the day a few flakes still drifted from the gray, leaden sky. The shacks were cold and cheerless and the women, as depressed now as the men, moved heavily about their tasks. Only Carl’s mother was not with them, and deep in their own misery no one gave her a thought. The children were huddled in one corner under a ragged bed quilt, while Carl, by the magic of his faith and words, brought color to their cheeks and light to their eyes.

“This is the day He will come,” the lad was whispering. “My mother went out into the snow this morning and before she went she kissed me and said, ‘The little baby is coming to-day, my son, and where is the home ready to receive him?’ I don’t know just what she meant, for of course the angels will be waiting to take care of the little King.”

“But if it is snowing, how can we see the star?” asked the children, and as if in answer to their question the sun came out brilliantly. Like a fairyland of silver and powdered diamonds the world shone in its mantle of snow and ice, and into it rushed the children, flying over the fields, eager, joyous, expectant. Quickly the short afternoon passed, the sun set in a glory of rose and gold, and then again to the watching children appeared the splendid evening star upon which all their hopes and dreams were centered. It was bigger and brighter than ever before, but it didn’t move as the children had been sure it would, and for a moment a puzzled silence fell upon the group. Then Carl, who had been as bewildered as the others, laughed outright. “Look!” he exclaimed joyously, pointing to the old barn beyond the fir trees, where the few camp animals were kept. “It doesn’t move because it is here! See, there, right below the star, is the stable. We thought, just as the wise men did, that the star would take us to a palace, but perhaps again the little King is lying in a manger!”

For a moment it all seemed too wonderful to be true. Could the King be there already, lying in the old stable, waiting for them? Then suddenly to the children everything seemed possible. With the glorious star shining in the glowing sky above them, the glittering mountains behind them, and Carl’s triumphant voice calling them to follow, faith in the King’s coming seemed only natural. With hearts as full of joy as the shepherds’ on the Bethlehem plains, the children climbed up the snowy path to the little stable, through whose windows there already shone a golden light. Was it the light from the angels’ wings or was it--could it be--the glory which shone around the Christ Child Himself?

Very quietly and reverently the awestruck children opened the door and stepped inside. What did they see?

Nothing at first. Their eyes were blinded by the light of a great fire which burned in the rude stone fireplace, a fire kindled with evergreen branches so that the room was full of the fragrance of Christmas trees. “This is the odor of the frankincense and myrrh,” whispered one child. “He must have brought it with Him for us.” Then, as their eyes grew accustomed to the brilliant light, they saw in one dim corner the old donkey which drew heavy loads for the miners. Beside him stood one cow, a couple of sheep, and on the rafters over their heads perched a pair of blue pigeons. The children had seen them all before, often, but in the light of the fire, with the star shining above them, the simple animals, the same as those which had surrounded the Christ on the first Christmas, seemed as miraculous as a host of angels. And then, at last, they saw the One for whom they were seeking!

The cow’s manger had been pulled out beside the blazing fire and in it, warm and cozy and wrapped in swaddling bands, lay a tiny, beautiful baby. With a gasp of wonder the children knelt in the straw before him. Around his head was no circle of marvelous glory, but his sweet blue eyes opened, big and shining in his tiny face, and to the children he seemed indeed the baby King of whom they had dreamed. Beside him on the straw lay a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. Even Carl did not at first recognize her as his mother. She had crept off that morning to the one peaceful spot in the camp, where her husband had built the great fire for her, and there, with the peaceful animals around him, the little baby boy had been born.

“The Christ Child has come to us,” whispered one child blissfully. “The little King is here!” said others softly. “He has brought the fragrance the wise men gave Him,” murmured another. “And the joy of Christmas He has brought to us all to last forever,” said Carl in his sweet voice. Overwhelmed with the beauty and wonder of the scene, they had forgotten the longed-for gift of gold, and then the door swung open and the children saw Carl’s father enter and step across the room to the mother on the hay. His face shone with the glory in which the whole world seemed to be bathed. Was it only the light of the sunset and the blazing fire? Ah, no, his voice rang with gladness as he exclaimed, “Wife, they have found the gold; the mine will give treasure to us all!”

The children clasped their hands in blissful content. They had known it would come with the coming of the little King,--gold for the desperate men, peace for the tired women, happiness for them all,--and it had come true even more wonderfully than they had dreamed.

The star shone through the window in the loft, the last rays of the sunset turned the snow to gold, and within, in the light of the fire, the children knelt, gazing rapturously at the little newborn baby in the manger. So the miners found them. They were returning to the camp jubilant over the newly discovered gold; it would make them all rich, and they planned to celebrate by a night of riotous drinking. But on the way to the shacks they passed the stable. It was strange to see it lighted at this hour, and one man turned aside to see what was happening there. As he stood looking silently through the window another joined him, and another, until the whole crowd stood outside, gazing through the windows, silent and abashed. The kneeling children, the baby in the manger, the star above them, what did it all mean?

“It is Christmas Eve,” murmured one man. “That must be the big Carl’s kid,” said another, “but even the blessed Lord Jesus Himself couldn’t have looked any sweeter.”

“Gifts of gold,” said the man who was the leader of the gang, and his clear voice reached every miner’s ears, “gifts of gold, if I remember rightly, were brought once to the Christ on His first birthday. It’s His birthday to-night, though none of us remembered it, and now the gifts of gold have come to us. Who knows whether they have not come from Him, the Lord whom we had forgotten?”

There was silence again, and then as night fell and the stars shone out over that peaceful scene, there entered into the heart of every man, woman, and child there the spirit of the Christ Child.

Later, when the children understood that the baby was Carl’s little brother, the wonder was none the less. Possibly they felt the great truth, that the Christ Child is born in every baby who comes into the world, or perhaps they simply felt the glory of His presence, as the men and women around them lost their harsh and gloomy ways and became joyful, tender, compassionate. For from that Christmas Eve until the mine had been worked, and the men had scattered happily to their homes, the camp was a different place. The drinking and fighting ceased, and the men played with the children, shyly at first and then merrily, thinking of “those other kids at home.” The women sang over their tasks, and if the music was not as heavenly as the angels’ song, it was full of cheer and peace and good will. And so to the children the camp became truly a place in which, on that marvelous Christmas Eve, the Christ Child had been born.

THE MEANING OF THE STAR[12]

EMMA G. SEBRING

Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.... And, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.

And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary, his mother, and fell down, and worshiped him; and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, frankincense, and myrrh.--_Matthew ii, 1-4; 9-11._

* * * * *

In every life there is need of a star, the star of an ideal, which shall go before, leading the way until it comes and stands where the Christ is. They who see such a star shall rejoice with exceeding great joy, as they who look upon a heavenly vision. They who follow such a star to the goal where it leads, shall there offer the precious gift of an ennobled and sanctified life.

WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT

MARGARET DELAND

Like small curled feathers, white and soft,
The little clouds went by,
Across the moon, and past the stars,
And down the western sky:
In upland pastures, where the grass
With frosted dew was white,
Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay
The first best Christmas night.

The shepherds slept; and, glimmering faint,
With twist of thin, blue smoke,
Only their fire’s crackling flame
The tender silence broke,
Save when a young lamb raised his head,
Or when the night wind blew
A nestling bird would softly stir
Where dusky olives grew.

With finger on her solemn lip,
Night hushed the shadowy earth,
And only stars and angels saw
The little Saviour’s birth;
Then came such flash of silver light
Across the bending skies,
The wondering shepherds woke and hid
Their frightened, dazzled eyes!

And all their gentle sleepy flock
Looked up, then slept again,
Nor knew the light that dimmed the stars
Brought endless peace to men,
Nor even heard the gracious words
That down the ages ring--
“The Christ is born! the Lord has come,
Good will on earth to bring!”

Then o’er the moonlit misty fields,
Dumb with the world’s great joy,
The shepherds sought the white-walled town
Where lay the Baby Boy--
And oh, the gladness of the world,
The glory of the skies,
Because the longed-for Christ looked up
In Mary’s happy eyes!

THE GREAT WALLED COUNTRY[13]

RAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN

Away at the northern end of the world, farther than men have ever gone with their ships or their sleds, and where most people suppose that there is nothing but ice and snow, is a land full of children, called The Great Walled Country. This name is given because all around the country is a great wall, hundreds of feet thick and hundreds of feet high. It is made of ice, and never melts, winter or summer, and of course it is for this reason that more people have not discovered the place.

The land, as I said, is filled with children, for nobody who lives there ever grows up. The king and the queen, the princes and the courtiers, may be as old as you please, but they are children for all that. They play a great deal of the time with dolls and tin soldiers, and every night at seven o’clock have a bowl of bread and milk and go to bed. But they make excellent rulers, and the other children are well pleased with the government.

There are all sorts of curious things about the way they live in The Great Walled Country, but this story is only of their Christmas season. One can imagine what a fine thing their Christmas must be, so near the North Pole, with ice and snow everywhere; but this is not all. Grandfather Christmas lives just on the north side of the country, so that his house leans against the great wall and would tip over if it were not for its support. Grandfather Christmas is his name in The Great Walled Country; no doubt we should call him Santa Claus here. At any rate, he is the same person, and, best of all the children in the world, he loves the children behind the great wall of ice.

One very pleasant thing about having Grandfather Christmas for a neighbor is that in The Great Walled Country they never have to buy their Christmas presents. Every year, on the day before Christmas, before he makes up his bundles for the rest of the world Grandfather Christmas goes into a great forest of Christmas trees, that grows just back of the palace of the king of The Great Walled Country, and fills the trees with candy and books and toys and all sorts of good things. So when night comes, all the children wrap up snugly, while the children in all other lands are waiting in their beds, and go to the forest to gather gifts for their friends. Each one goes by himself so that none of his friends can see what he has gathered; and no one ever thinks of such a thing as taking a present for himself. The forest is so big that there is room for every one to wander about without meeting the people from whom he has secrets, and there are always enough nice things to go around.

So Christmas time is a great holiday in that land, as it is in all the best places in the world. They have been celebrating it in this way for hundreds of years, and since Grandfather Christmas does not seem to grow old any faster than the children, they will probably do so for hundreds of years to come.

But there was once a time, so many years ago that they would have forgotten all about it if the story were not written in their Big Book and read to them every year, when the children in The Great Walled Country had a very strange Christmas. There came a visitor to the land. He was an old man, and was the first stranger for very many years that had succeeded in getting over the wall. He looked so wise, and was so much interested in what he saw and heard, that the king invited him to the palace, and he was treated with every possible honor.

When this old man had inquired about their Christmas celebration, and was told how they carried it on every year, he listened gravely and then, looking wiser than ever, he said to the king:

“That is all very well, but I should think that children who have Grandfather Christmas for a neighbor could find a better and easier way. You tell me that you all go out on Christmas Eve to gather presents to give to one another the next morning. Why take so much trouble, and act in such a roundabout way? Why not go out together, and every one get his own presents? That would save the trouble of dividing them again, and every one would be better satisfied, for he could pick out just what he wanted for himself. No one can tell what you want as well as you can.”

This seemed to the king a very wise saying, and he called all his courtiers and counselors about him to hear it. The wise stranger talked further about his plan, and when he had finished they all agreed that they had been very foolish never to have thought of this simple way of getting their Christmas gifts.

“If we do this,” they said, “no one can ever complain of what he has, or wish that some one had taken more pains to find what he wanted. We will make a proclamation, and always after this follow the new plan.”

So the proclamation was made, and the plan seemed as wise to the children of the country as it had to the king and the counselors. Every one had at some time been a little disappointed with his Christmas gifts; now there would be no danger of that.

On Christmas Eve they always had a meeting at the palace, and sang carols until the time for going to the forest. When the clock struck ten every one said, “I wish you a Merry Christmas!” to the person nearest him, and then they separated to go their ways to the forest. On this particular night it seemed to the king that the music was not quite so merry as usual, and that when the children spoke to one another their eyes did not shine as gladly as he had noticed them in other years; but there could be no good reason for this, since every one was expecting a better time than usual. So he thought no more of it.

There was only one person at the palace that night who was not pleased with the new proclamation about the Christmas gifts. This was a little boy named Inge, who lived not far from the palace with his sister. Now his sister was a cripple, and had to sit all day looking out of the window from her chair; and Inge took care of her, and tried to make her life happy from morning till night. He had always gone to the forest on Christmas Eve and returned with his arms and pockets loaded with pretty things for his sister, which would keep her amused all the coming year. And although she was not able to go after presents for her brother, he did not mind that at all, especially as he had other friends who never forgot to divide their good things with him.

But now, said Inge to himself, what would his sister do? For the king had ordered that no one should gather any presents except for himself, or any more than he could carry away at once. All of Inge’s friends were busy planning what they would pick for themselves, but the poor crippled child could not go a step toward the forest. After thinking about it a long time, Inge decided that it would not be wrong, if, instead of taking gifts for himself, he took them altogether for his sister. This he would be very glad to do; for what did a boy who could run about and play in the snow care for presents, compared with a little girl who could only sit still and watch others having a good time? Inge did not ask the advice of any one, for he was a little afraid others would tell him he must not do it; but he silently made up his mind not to obey the proclamation.

And now the chimes had struck ten, and the children were making their way toward the forest, in starlight that was so bright that it almost showed their shadows on the sparkling snow. As soon as they came to the edge of the forest, they separated, each one going by himself in the old way, though now there was really no reason why they should have secrets from one another.

Ten minutes later, if you had been in the forest, you might have seen the children standing in dismay, with tears on their faces, and exclaiming that there had never been such a Christmas Eve before. For as they looked eagerly about them to the low-bending branches of the evergreen trees, they saw nothing hanging from them that could not be seen every day in the year. High and low they searched, wandering farther into the forest than ever before, lest Grandfather Christmas might have chosen a new place this year for hanging his presents; but still no presents appeared. The king called his counselors about him, and asked them if they knew whether anything of this kind had happened before, but they could tell him nothing. So no one could guess whether Grandfather Christmas had forgotten them, or whether some dreadful accident had kept him away.

As the children were trooping out of the forest, after hours of weary searching, some of them came upon little Inge, who carried over his shoulder a bag that seemed to be full to overflowing. When he saw them looking at him, he cried:

“Are they not beautiful things? I think Grandfather Christmas was never so good to us before.”

“Why, what do you mean?” cried the children. “There are no presents in the forest!”

“No presents!” Inge said. “I have my bag full of them.” But he did not offer to show them, because he did not want the children to see that they were all for his little sister instead of for himself.

Then the children begged him to tell them in what part of the forest he had found his presents, and he turned back and pointed them to the place where he had been. “I left many more behind than I brought away,” he said. “There they are! I can see some of the things shining on the trees even from here.”

But when the children followed his footprints in the snow to the place where he had been, they still saw nothing on the trees, and thought that Inge must be walking in his sleep, and dreaming that he had found presents. Perhaps he had filled his bag with the cones from the evergreen trees.

On Christmas Day there was sadness all through The Great Walled Country. But those who came to the house of Inge and his sister saw plenty of books and dolls and beautiful toys piled up about the little cripple’s chair, and when they asked where these things came from, they were told, “Why, from the Christmas-tree forest.” And they shook their heads, not knowing what it could mean.

The king held a council in the palace, and appointed a committee of his most faithful courtiers to visit Grandfather Christmas, and see if they could find what was the matter. In a day or two more the committee set out on their journey.

They had very hard work to climb the great wall of ice that lay between their country and the place where Grandfather Christmas lived, but at last they reached the top. And when they came to the other side of the wall they were looking down into the top of his chimney. It was not hard to go down this chimney into the house, and when they reached the bottom of it they found themselves in the very room where Grandfather Christmas lay sound asleep.

It was hard enough to waken him, for he always slept one hundred days after his Christmas work was over, and it was only by turning the hands of the clock around two hundred times that the committee could do anything. When the clock had struck twelve times two hundred hours, Grandfather Christmas thought it was time for his nap to be over, and he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, sir!” cried the prince who was in charge of the committee, “we have come from the king of The Great Walled Country, who has sent us to ask why you forgot us this Christmas, and left no presents in the forest.”

“No presents!” said Grandfather Christmas. “I never forgot anything. The presents were there. You did not see them, that’s all.”

But the children told him that they had searched long and carefully, and in the whole forest there had not been found a thing that could be called a Christmas gift.

“Indeed!” said Grandfather Christmas. “And did little Inge, the boy with the crippled sister, find none?”

Then the committee was silent, for they had heard of the gifts at Inge’s house, and did not know what to say about them.

“You had better go home,” said Grandfather Christmas, who now began to realize that he had been awakened too soon, “and let me finish my nap. The presents were there, but they were never intended for children who were looking only for themselves. I am not surprised that you could not see them. Remember, that not everything that wise travelers tell you is wise.” And he turned over and went to sleep again.

The committee returned silently to The Great Walled Country, and told the king what they had heard. The king did not tell all the children of the land what Grandfather Christmas had said, but, when the next December came, he made another proclamation bidding every one to seek gifts for others, in the old way, in the Christmas-tree forest. So that is what they have been doing ever since; and in order that they may not forget what happened, in case any one should ever ask for another change they have read to them every year from their Big Book the story of the time when they had no Christmas gifts.

GOING TO MEET CHRISTMAS[14]

EDMUND VANCE COOKE

“Papa,” said the Man Mite, “can you hear Christmas?”

“Can you hear Christmas?” repeated his papa. “Why, I suppose so, in a sort of way. You can hear bells chiming and little boys drumming and little girls blowing horns and people laughing and everybody saying, ‘Merry Christmas!’ I suppose that’s hearing Christmas, isn’t it?”

“But I mean can you hear it before it’s here?” asked the Man Mite.

“No, I think not,” answered papa.

“Well, if you can’t hear it, how can you tell it’s coming? Can you see it coming?”

“Oh,” answered his papa, “I see what you mean now. Well, how can you tell to-morrow is coming? Can you smell it?”

The Man Mite laughed. “Such a silly papa! To-morrow _has_ to come so that to-day can be yesterday. You ’splained that to me once yourself.”

“Yes? Well, Christmas has to come so that next Christmas can be last Christmas.”

“Oh, papa,” cried the Man Mite, “you forgot about _this_ Christmas, but please don’t tell me when this Christmas is coming, because I want it to surprise me. I want it to sneak right up and get here when I don’t know it.”

“All right,” laughed papa, “I shan’t tell, and you can go to bed every night _for a week_ hoping that the next day will be Christmas.”

Which was exactly what the Man Mite did, and for a night or two it was very exciting, but toward the end of the week he began to grow tired of it. It was all very well to go to bed hoping that the next day would be Christmas, but to wake up every morning, and ask, “Where is Christmas?” only to be answered with “Christmas is coming!” was very disappointing.

One night his papa and mamma insisted that he go to bed earlier than usual, so he was very wide awake for a while, and lay there wondering how he could hurry up Christmas. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how Christmas looked dilly-dallying along the way, as (he remembered with shame) he himself did sometimes when he was sent upon an errand, instead of hastening, as Christmas and a little boy ought to do.

“Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!” he repeated to himself, “and if it doesn’t hurry and hurry up--if it doesn’t hurry and hurry up, I’ll go to meet it!”

That was a new idea, and the Man Mite lingered on it lovingly. Go to meet it! Why not?

Just how he got himself dressed and out of the house he never distinctly remembered. He afterwards said that he was in such a hurry he didn’t have time to remember, but that doesn’t sound quite reasonable, does it?

He also says, however, that he remembers running for a long time as fast as he could go. When he stopped to take breath and to look around he found he was in a strange part of the city and there was nobody in the street in any direction. He was lost!

The Man Mite remembered that his papa told him that if ever he was lost he should ask a policeman, but there wasn’t a policeman or anybody else in sight. On the corner, though, was a patrol box, and the Man Mite had seen the policeman telephone to the station from the box, so he thought he would do the same thing. As he was trying to open the door he was startled to hear a voice inside exclaim, “Christmas is coming!”

“Which way is it coming, please?” asked the Man Mite, and off popped the top and up popped a Jack-in-the-box with his arms extended.

“Thank you,” said the Man Mite, and hastened away in the direction the Jack-in-the-box had pointed. Presently he saw a toy trolley car going in the same direction. “Hello!” he said, “where is that car going?”

“Going to meet Christmas,” answered the trolley car; “get inside.”

“Thank you,” answered the Man Mite, “you’re most too small for me to get inside of, but I can sit on top.”

He did so, and the car took him to the end of the line, and he was his own conductor and collected his own fare from himself. When the car stopped, it was at the end of a street which ran up against a steep bluff with no elevator or path to help a little boy to get to its top. The Man Mite wondered how he was ever going to get past that bluff, when he saw a climbing-monkey-on-a-string. One end of his string was attached to the top of the bluff and the other was fastened to the ground below.

“Hello,” said the monkey, “Christmas is coming, and if you want to go to meet it, you would better crawl up my string. I’ll show you how.”

“Oh, I can’t,” said the Man Mite.

“Can’t!” mocked the monkey. “I’m only a tin monkey and I can do it. It’s easy.”

He went up the string hand-over-hand and foot-over-foot, and the Man Mite followed. Much to his surprise, he reached the top without any difficulty, and there he found a toy train of cars, a toy automobile, and a wooden wagon.

“All aboard for the Christmas Limited!” said the little iron brakeman.

“Automobile Air-Line to Santaclausville!” said the tin chauffeur.

“Fast express going to meet Christmas!” cried the tongue of the wagon, and the Man Mite noticed that the wagon _did_ have “Express” printed on both its sides.

Now, although the Man Mite would have liked to go on the train or the auto, there was so much more room in the wooden wagon that he got into it, and was surprised that it soon left its companions far behind. It sped along merrily, and its tongue kept up a continuous running talk as well, until it came to the ocean, where a toy boat was floating.

“All aboard for Christmas!” said the captain.

“But your boat is too small, and besides there’s not a board in it; it’s tin,” answered the Man Mite.

“Well, throw us a line and we’ll tow you,” said the captain.

As the Man Mite had no line, he let him take the tongue of the wagon, and the captain stood at the stern of the boat and hung on.

Though the boat was so small, it pulled the Man Mite through the water in a surprising manner, and the wooden wagon floated and kept the Man Mite dry, but not a word could he get out of it, which was quite a contrast to its manner when on land.

The weather kept getting colder and colder; presently the boat was stuck fast in the ice. Of course the wagon was also frozen tight, and the captain let go of the “line” as he called it.

“There!” cried the wagon angrily. “I knew what you’d bring us into.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so if you knew so much?” said the captain.

“Say so! Could _you_ say so if somebody was pulling you along by the tongue?” demanded the wagon.

The captain replied and the wagon retorted, and the quarrel was becoming very unpleasant, when along came a pair of skates without anybody on them.

“Boat ahoy! Wagon ahoy! Boy ahoy!” cried the skates. “Christmas is coming!”

“Take me along to meet it, please?” asked the Man Mite, and in another moment he was on the skates and skating faster and easier than he had ever skated in his life before. He skated for a long time, and passed fields where plum puddings were growing like pumpkins, trees where candy boys hung like pears, and snowdrifts which upon closer acquaintance proved to be huge frosted cakes. Curiously enough, fields and trees and drifts were all moving and cried out, “We’re going to meet Christmas!”

After what seemed to him a long time, much to his surprise and joy he met a boy, seemingly of his own age. The Man Mite was almost sure he had seen his face before, and yet, when he came to look at him again, he was surer still that he hadn’t, for certainly he had never seen a boy with a fur cap, fur coat, fur boots, and fur trousers! He noticed, too, that while the boy’s face was round and chubby, his hair was white; not merely tow-headed, like Willie Perkins’s, and Pete Judson’s, but pure white.

“Hello!” said the stranger. “What’s your name?”

“They call me Man Mite. What’s yours?”

“Santy.”

“Santy? What a funny name. Santy what?”

“Santy Claus.”

“Santy Claus?” cried the Man Mite. “You can’t be Santy Claus. He’s a man, and you’re just a little boy like I am.”

“Ho! you’re thinkin’ of my father,” answered the boy.

“Your father!” cried the Man Mite, more astonished than ever. Somehow, he had never thought of the possibility of Santy Claus being a father.

“Have you got a mother, too?” he asked, after a moment.

“Yep. Had one ever since I was born. Ain’t you?”

“Of _course_,” answered the Man Mite, “but I never heard of Mrs. Santy Claus.”

“Never heard of your mother neither,” answered Santy, Jr.

“Say, now, ain’t you fooling me? Are you honestly Santy Claus’s little boy?”

“Say yourself,” answered the other, “doesn’t your father remember when he was little he had a Santy Claus?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t your father’s father have a Santy Claus?”

“I s’pose so.”

“Well, do you suppose it’s the same Santy Claus? Somebody’s got to keep the business goin’.”

“And will you be Santy Claus--the real Santy Claus--when you grow up?” asked the Man Mite.

“Oh, I s’pose so,” answered the other, carelessly.

“You s’pose so! Don’t you _want_ to be?”

“Naw; I want to be the conductor on a dog train. Say, they made the run this year in three months an’ two days. Wasn’t that flyin’?”

It really didn’t seem fast to the Man Mite, so he said: “How far is it?”

“From Arctic C. to Aurora B.”

“What do you mean by Arctic C. and Aurora B.?”

“Arctic Circle to Aurora Borealis, of course. That run was an excursion, too. We always go to the Aurora B. for the Fourth. Fine fireworks there.”

“The Fourth? Do you celebrate the Fourth?”

“O’ course.”

“But you’re not Americans, are you?”

“No; that’s the worst of it. We got to celebrate everything, holidays and saints days and kings’ and queens’ birthdays, and the whole bunch. That’s because we belong to all nations.”

“Christmas is the best, isn’t it?” smiled the Man Mite.

“Worst o’ the lot,” said Santy Jr., shortly.

“Why, what makes you think so?” cried the Man Mite.

“‘Cause dad’s always away on Christmas and we’ve cleared everything out of the house to the last ginger-snap to put in folks’ stockings and it’s the middle of the night and everybody’s tired, just like I am now, and wants to go to bed.”

“Middle of the night? What _do_ you mean?”

“Middle of the north-pole night. If it wasn’t for Christmas we could go to bed about half-past October and sleep until a quarter of May, but ma thinks we ought to help pa and then wait up till he comes home. My, but I’m sleepy! Ain’t you?”

“Yes,” owned the Man Mite, “a little.”

“Well, come on and sleep with me. Your mother won’t mind. You can get up about a quarter past April and get home early.”

While they were speaking, Santy, Jr., was leading the way into the house and to his room. The two boys lay down together on a bed of bearskins, and the Man Mite said, sleepily: “Say, will you please tell me something?”

“Uh-huh,” said Santy.

“What makes your hair white?”

“What makes a polar bear’s hair white? What makes an arctic fox’s hair white? What makes an arctic hare’s hair white? Why, hello! there’s dad coming back!”

“Coming back from where?”

“Why, from Christmas, of course. You do ask the funniest questions. I believe you’re asleep. Your eyes are shut and you talk so stupid.”

The Mite Man rubbed his eyes with both hands and strove to open them. Then he heard a voice cry, “Papa! papa!” but instead of its being the voice of Santy, Jr., as he expected, it was the voice of his brother Ben. Then somebody kissed him and called “Merry Christmas!”

“Oh, papa,” said the Man Mite as he opened his eyes, “is it _this_ Christmas or _next_ Christmas?”

He did not stop for an answer to his question. With a shout of joy he sprang out of bed and darted upon a pair of skates, a toy steamboat, a wooden wagon marked “Express.” on both sides, and a toy trolley car which was big enough for him to sit upon the roof.

A LEGEND OF SAINT BONIFACE

ELEANOR L. SKINNER

On a wild winter night about twelve hundred years ago the great English missionary Saint Boniface and a score of faithful followers were traveling through the gloomy forest in a lonely region of Hesse, Germany. They made their way painfully and slowly, for they were obliged to cut a path through the tangled thicket and great twisted branches. The little band had come into the wilderness to share the message of the Prince of Peace with hordes of barbarous savages who believed in witches and werewolves, worshiped false idols, and made sacrifices to pagan gods. In their passionate joy to bring the glad tidings of the gospel, these apostles willingly endured blinding snowstorms and cruel hunger, courageously risked death from wild beasts and murderous savages.

Since noon these faithful Christians had fought their way through the forest. The morning they had spent at Geismar, where Saint Boniface took into Christ’s fold almost three hundred pagans. In simplest words the great apostle urged the rude barbarians to give up their false idols and bloody sacrifices. He told them the thrilling story of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection, and the wonderful promise of the Kingdom of Peace. The savages stood listening in breathless silence. Slowly they caught a glimpse of the light of truth, came timidly forward, and knelt at the rude altar where Saint Boniface stood.

“Dost thou think the people of the wilderness will hold to the new faith, father?” asked one of the followers.

“I hope so, lad,” answered Saint Boniface. “We must try to keep watch over them. Again and again they must hear the wonderful story. It is hard, indeed, for these pagans to turn from their false idols and worship an all-loving, merciful Father. We must watch and pray.”

“When shall we come again to Geismar, father?” asked the youth.

“It will be a year before our band can return to this region. In the meantime, I hope to send other missionaries here,” answered the great apostle.

“Dost thou think we are near the monastery, father?” asked the footsore youth.

“I believe we are. If we do not reach it in another hour we must light a fire and lie down under the trees. Courage, lad! This has been a fruitful journey. May the converts hold fast to the glory of Christ!”

A year passed quickly. Saint Boniface and his helpers were again working among the wild children of the forest. Often the great apostle’s heart sank when he heard that some of the converts were worshiping their false idols again. A few remained stanch and true to the new faith; others hopelessly confused the old superstitious ideas with the gospel of love and service.

“Thou art not discouraged, father?” whispered the youth, who noticed that Saint Boniface was lost in thought.

“Discouraged? Never!” answered the apostle with flashing eyes. “I am deciding how to strike the next blow at their cruel superstitions.”

In a few moments Saint Boniface said: “Let us stop here for a little while. My plan is made. To-night is the pagan yuletide. Several tribes will gather around the thunder-oak of Geismar to offer sacrifices. The priests declare that nothing but human blood will appease the wrath of Thor. Many wavering converts will be there. Come, we will destroy once for all the sacred monarch of the forest. We will show the poor benighted people that the worship of Thor is nothing but a shadow. Our axes are sharp; our arms are strong. God is with us. Come!”

With new inspiration the Christian band pushed on. An hour’s hard struggle brought them to the thunder-oak, which stood on a broad low hill near Geismar. There they saw several hundred pagans standing in a semicircle around the gigantic oak. Near the sacred tree burned a dull red fire, and in the light of the flickering blaze the Christians saw an old priest and a little, fair-haired boy.

“It is as I feared,” whispered Saint Boniface. “They are ready to make human sacrifice. Forward!”

In a moment all eyes were fixed on the little band of Christians that advanced toward the priest. Some of the pagans recognized the apostle before whom they had knelt one year ago.

“Friends,” said Saint Boniface, holding up the cross, “again we come to bring the message of peace from the All-Father. Thor is dead! With our axes we will prove to you that the god of thunder is powerless before the God of Love.”

Saint Boniface and a helper, with their wood axes in their hands, stepped up to the great tree. With powerful blows they cut deep gashes into its sides. Suddenly a mighty whirling wind passed over the forest. Thor’s oak shuddered, swayed, and fell; it crashed to the ground, and split into four huge pieces.