Chapter 3

"Must you go tomorrow and next day?" he asked.

"Next day and always," said the mother, looking off down the yellow road.

Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me go!"

"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."

"Is there no sun at the other side of the hill?"

"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in darkness."

Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"

The mother stared into the dusk. "Because," she said slowly, "there are princesses and great ladies down there who must be beautiful."

"What is beautiful?"

"I don't know."

Always through the dusky summer evenings they sat together on the doorstep, the mother with her bent head resting on her hand, and Hansei staring up at the great sky and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes the mother told strange stories, but oftener they sat silent.

When winter came it seemed to Hansei that half of all the joy and light and life went out of the world. There were no birds nor bugs nor bees left; the flowers were gone, and the days were short and gray. It was cold, and he could only stay in the dim little house, playing with small sticks and stones, or tracing the frostwork on the one little window. Frost was like lace, his mother had told him.

Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the woman had sung who passed that summer time.

One evening in the middle of winter Hansei and his mother started out to a bit of woods skirting the other side of the yellow road. Hansei sang as they went; it was half what the woman had sung and half like nothing that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune made his mother smile a little, but oftener she did not hear it.

As they crossed the yellow road his mother stopped and looked, as she always did.

"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing with her hand. Hansei stood still and listened. Yes, yes, they were coming--"the others." It sounded again as it had the day the men had ridden by, only more--more; and they were coming nearer. There were voices and the beat of footsteps, and sometimes Hansei heard a strange sound that might be singing or wind moaning.

Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his mother did not hear him. He hid his face in her gown and waited. They were coming on and on; and they were saying something together,--strange words that Hansei had never heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them passing close where he and his mother stood; he raised his head and looked.

He saw a long dark line of men, some riding and some walking. Their heads were bent, and they said the strange words together. Sometimes there was a burst like song, then the words again. There was one torch.

Slowly they made their way down the yellow road. Hansei and his mother watched them as they went.

He whispered, "Where are they going?"

"Down there," said the mother softly. "It is the Christ-child's night."

"Why do they go?"

"To pray."

"What will they ask?"

"Light! light!"

"Can all go?"

"Yes, all."

"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is a voice down there that calls me often."

The mother looked back at the little dark house, then down the road where the one point of light moved on.

"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she said, taking his hand and hurrying down the steep way in the darkness.

Through the long, wild night they toiled on and on. Always the little light went before, and always Hansei and his mother followed where it led.

Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the torch is the star, and we are the shepherds seeking the little Christ-child!" And he laughed.

In the gray dawn they came to the misty city. "How strange! how strange!" thought Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets. "How many houses, and lights, and people! But the real light, the little star, we must not lose it."

Just before them went the dark line of men and the torch. People who met them stepped aside and always made strange signs on their breasts. Suddenly the light went out, and the men disappeared into what seemed a great shadow.

Hansei asked: "What is it?"

His mother said: "A church."

"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and Hansei, with all his strength, pushed back the great door.

"People! people!" little Hansei had not dreamed there were so many of "the others." There in the dim light they were kneeling, praying for "light, light," his mother had told him.

Far beyond there were small lights, like stars shining, and a man in a white robe, who said the strange words he had heard on the yellow road. Then the kneeling people all said something together. Hansei thought, "They are trying to tell him they want the light, and he does not understand." Hansei's mother knelt where she stood, and he crept down beside her. He heard her saying the words he did not know. He only said softly: "Light, light for them all!"

An old woman knelt near him; not far off a lame boy and a mother with a sleeping child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond, a woman. Ah, he knew what "beautiful" was now! He looked to see if she wore lace like cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only knelt there. Tears were in her eyes. "Light for her and all," whispered Hansei over and over.

Then it was as if a dream came true. Some one that had stood near stepped back, and there, there beyond, appeared the little Christ-child, just as his mother had told him. There was the beautiful mother, the wise men and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the light shining from the child and touching them all, all, even the poor little beasts off there!

Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the Christ-child!"

His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not the real Christ-child, but a picture."

Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child? But, Mother, the star stopped here! Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere, I know."

He looked about, but he saw only the old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her child, and the beautiful woman who could not pray. He turned back to the painted child and the light, and looked, and looked; he stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see; all seemed to fade, to go. The tired eyelids fell; his head drooped down on his mother's arm, and he slept.

But his eyes still held the light, and he dreamed.

It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured light grew and broadened into a great shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the real Christ-child is near! but where? not here; here is only the old woman and the lame boy and the others praying. But the great light--shining over all, above every head, in shining rings! how beautiful!"

And he thought he cried out, "See, you have the light, all of you! Do not pray, but be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.

"But the Christ-child--where is the real Christ-child?" he wondered. He thought he stood up and strained his eyes over the bent heads of the praying people, and while he looked he saw myriad circles of light begin to glow; and lo! there, near--so near--was the real Christ-child,--only it was the old woman. Dreams are strange!

Her bent, trembling body seemed going, fading, and there knelt a shining being,--the real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman. And the lame boy, the hurt creature, as he looked, melted into the shadow of his radiant, perfect self, and shined too. The mother with her child grew bright, bright; and each of the kneeling, praying ones was a perfect shining child! The light grew into glory; the fullness of joy broke into singing; angels, heavenly hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,--here in the world!"

But what--? Who--? Why, his mother, to be sure, leaning above him.

"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the choir boys in white, like angels."

Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious Christmas morning was beaming full upon him through the great window, and he saw the light of the new day touching the bent old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the pictured Christ.

He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"

But the dream--the dream!

"I have found the real Christ-child," he whispered.

Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake, Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony, yet To be run, and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!

--_From Browning's "Saul."_

SAUL AND DAVID.

The great King Saul of Israel was sad, and the sorrow grew and grew until it spread abroad through the whole nation. Even it came to the simple folk who minded sheep and lived in the far hills.

"The mighty king is sad," said one who had come from a journey. And the people gathered about him and marveled that a king should sorrow.

"The king is sad," said the one. "He has traveled into the great desert, where nothing blooms and there are no rivers."

The people stood still and looked off over their stretching pastures, and heard the gush of water brooks.

"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his head in his hands," said the one. "His sword rests at his feet. The army goes no more to battle. The servants weep and pray, and strain their eyes over the burning sand, waiting."

"Waiting?" said the men.

"For one to come," said the other.

"Who shall come?" they asked together.

"The joy-bringer," said the man.

The shepherds looked at one another, and then away; and when they had stood awhile in silence, they moved off after their sheep.

The boy David went swiftly. His feet pressed springing grass, he smelt the odor of new-turned earth, and the sound of water was in his ears. He could not think that there were really deserts. But he thought of the sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go to him. He came to where his sheep were feeding, and stood among them and heard their bleating; but he did not think of them. He was looking into the wide sky, and wondering if God would not send his angel to save the king; but there was no sign save the peace and wonder that had always shone there. He turned and led his flock to the fold, and when he had done so he sat down on the hillside and played upon his harp; and the music was as beautiful as silence, so that shy creatures did not fear, but crept around to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the stars shone down like loving, glistening eyes.

Sometimes there had come to David strange longings for far-off things, and he too had grown sad like the king. But then would he take his harp to the hill and sing of the sweet promise of the perfect gift that was to come from God to the world,--to shepherds and kings and all. And when he had sung so, behold! the peace was again in his heart, and he wished no longer to go seeking, for he knew the gift would surely come.

He thought of the king as he sang. "He has forgot the promise; I must go to him and sing," he said.

So he rose up in the night, and woke his brother to give him charge over his flock. And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping lilies to wind through his harp strings, he went away by the same road all other travelers had gone.

Day after day he journeyed, passing through sweet fields and pastures. He saw men sowing, and others tending their flocks; and there were mothers with babes in their arms and children about them. "The gift will come to you, and you, and all," he thought, as he passed.

He went through the wilderness, and even through the dry desert; but his heart was singing and the thought of the promise was there like living water.

Now the king's servants saw him afar off, and they ran out to meet him and knelt at his feet; for when they saw the light on his shining hair, and the harp with living lilies, they thought, "It is God's angel!"

But he said to them, "I am only a loving boy; I am David, a shepherd, and I have come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering faces, and passing among them he came to where the king was, and stood in his very presence; and he was not afraid. They say a beautiful light shone from his face.

The tent was dim, and the weary king did not stir.

The boy knelt down, and stripping off the lilies, he tuned his harp and began to sing. The poet tells how he played for the mighty king; and what do you think it was? Just the tune all his sheep knew; always it brought them, one after one, to the pen door at evening. It was so strange and sweet a tune that quail on the corn lands would each leave its mate to fly after the player; and crickets--it made them so wild with delight they would fight one another. Then he played what sets the field mouse musing, and the cattle to deeper dreaming in the sunny meadows.

He sang of green pastures and water brooks, and the morning joy of shepherds bounding over wide pastures. The light shines in streams, the hungry, happy sheep break out, and the long golden day is to be lived!

Then he sang of the peace that comes to shepherds at evening, when the gentle sheep and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the sweet wide meadow, and the stars come out in the serene heavens. Then it is to the shepherd as if nature and man and God are all one, and love is all there is in the whole world.

At last the boy David sang of the perfect gift that will surely come; and he sang until the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.

The king stirred and raised his head. It was to him as if it had rained, and flowers had sprung up in the desert.

A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION

The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:

[=a]--_as in_ f[=a]te. [)a]--_as in_ [)a]dd. [+a]--_as in_ pref' [+a]ce. [:a]--_as in_ f[:a]r. [.a]--_as in_ gr[.a]ss. [a:]--_as in_ [a:]ll. [=e]--_as in_ [=e]ve. [+e]--_as in_ [+e]-vent'. [)e]--_as in_ [)e]nd. [~e]--_as in_ h[~e]r. [=i]--_as in_ [=i]ce. [)i]--_as in_ p[)i]n. [=o]--_as in_ r[=o]w. [+o]--_as in_ [+o]-bey'. ô--_as in_ lôrd. [)o]--_as in_ n[)o]t. ö--_similar to_ u _in_ fur. [=oo]--_as in_ s[=oo]n. [)u]--_as in_ [)u]s. [+u]--_as in_ [+u]-nite'. [u.]--_as in_ f[u.]ll. U--_similar to_ u _in_ fur. [)y]--_as in_ pit' [)y]. e[û]--_as in_ [û]s. (_prolonged_). oi--_as in_ oil. ou--_as in_ out.

K a guttural sound, similar to aspirated _h_.

N represents the nasal sound in French, as in _ensemble_ ([:a]N' s[:a]N' b'l).

[)w] similar to _v_.

Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as _a_ and _e_, when obscured, are also italicized.

A WORD LIST

Amphibian ([)a]m f[)i]b' [)i] _a_n) Angelus ([)a]n' g[+e] l[)u]s) Antonio Allegri da Corregio ([)a]n t[=o]' n[)i] [+o] [)a]ll[=e]' gr[)i] d[:a] k[)o]r [)e]d' j[=o]) applause ([)a]p pl[a:]z') Asola ([:a] s[=o]' l[:a]) [)a]s' p[)i] r[=a]' tion (sh[)u]n) Bartolomé Estéban Murillo (b[:a]r t[)o]l m[=a]' [)e]st[=a]' b[:a]n m[=oo] r[=e]' ly[=o]) Beatrice (b[=e]' [+a] tr[)i]s) Brunhilde (br[=oo]n' h[)i]l' d_e_) buoys (boiz) castle (k[)a]s' 'l) caverns (k[)a]v' [~e]rnz) citrons (s[)i]t' r[)u]nz) crouched (kroucht) Dante Gabriel Rossetti (d[)a]n' t[)e] g[=a]' br[)i] [)e]l r[)o]ss[)e]t' t[=e]) Earth-dwarfs ([e]rth'-dw[a:]rfs') fagots (f[)a]g' [)u]tz) Faust (foust) Friedrich Frö]_e_' b_e_l (fr[=e]' dr[+e]K) g[a:]_u_z' [)y] gl[=e]_a_m_e_d gl[)i]n' t[~e]r [)i]ng Goethe (gö' t_e_h) Hansei (h[.a]ns' [=e]) hedge (h[)e]j) h[)o]l' l[)y] h[)o]_c_ks indescribable ([)i]n' d[+e] skr[=i]b' [.a] b'l) Innocence ([)i]n' n[+o] s_e_ns) Israel ([)i]z' r[+a] [)e]l) Jean Baptiste Greuze (zh[:a]N b[.a]' t[+e]st' gruz) Jean François Millet (zh[:a]N fr[)o]N' sw[:a]' m[+e]' y[+a]') Jules le Febvre (zh[=oo]l l_e_h f[+a]vr') k[)i]n' d[~e]r g[:a]r' t[)e]n knight (n[=i]t) l[a:]_u_' r[)e]l Liseuse (l[)i]' zeûz') Mignon (m[+e]' nyôN') Mimi (m[=e]' m[+e]) miracles (m[)i]r' [.a] k'lz) m[=o]_a_n' [)i]ng musician (m[+u] z[)i]sh' _a_n) myriad (m[)i]r' [)i] _a_d) mysterious (m[)i]s t[=e]' r[)i] [)u]s) naught (n[a:]t) Niebelungen (n[=e]' b[)e] l[u.]ng' _e_n) Odin ([=o]' d[)i]n) P[)a]r' [.a] d[=i]s_e_ P{:a]r' s[)i] f[.a]l p[=e]_a_l' [)i]ng P[)i]p' p[.a] pr[=e]' l[=u]d_e_ probation (pr[+o] b[=a]' sh[)u]n) quail (kw[=a]l) quivered (kw[)i]v' [~e]rd) radiance (r[=a]' d[)i] _a_ns) R[)i]ch' _a_rd W[)a]g' n[~e]r Saul (s[a:]l) s[~e]_a_rch' [)i]ng s[+e] r[=e]n_e_' s[)e]v' [~e]r_e_d sheaves (sh[=e]vz) Siegfried (s[=e]g' fr[)i]d) sm[=e]_a_r_e_d tadpoles (t[)a]d' p[=o]lz) thatched (th[)a]tcht) tr[)u]n' d'l[)i]ng vision (v[)i]zh' [)u]n) Watts (w[)o]tz) wearily (w[=e]' r[)i] l[)y]) weights (w[=a]ts) w[)e]ld Wilhelm Meister ([)w][)i]l' h[)e]lm m[=i]s' t[~e]r)

+---------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | The following symbols are used as indicated: | | | | [+a], [+e], [+o], [+u] = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above; | | [.a] = a with 'dot' above; | | [)a] = a with 'breve' above; | | [=a] = a with 'macron' above; | | [a:] = a with 'umlaut' below; | | [~e] = e with 'tilde' above; | | [=e] = e with 'macron' above; | | [)e] = e with 'breve' above; | | [)i] = i with 'breve' above; | | [=i] = i with 'macron' above; | | [=o] = o with 'macron' above; | | [=oo] = oo with 'macron' above; | | [)u] = u with 'breve' above; | | [u.] = u with 'dot' below; | | [)u] = u with 'breve' above; | | [)w] = w with 'breve' above; | | [)y] = y with 'breve' above. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------+

End of Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee