Part 9

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

At the break of Christmas Day, Through the frosty starlight ringing, Faint and sweet and far away, Comes the sound of children, singing, Chanting, singing, "Cease to mourn, For Christ is born, Peace and joy to all men bringing!"

Careless that the chill winds blow, Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer, Noiseless footfalls in the snow Bring the happy voices nearer; Hear them singing, "Winter's drear, But Christ is here, Mirth and gladness with Him bringing!"

"Merry Christmas!" hear them say, As the East is growing lighter; "May the joy of Christmas Day Make your whole year gladder, brighter!" Join their singing, "To each home Our Christ has come, All love's treasures with Him bringing!"

Margaret Deland.

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?"

"I am a soldier's wife, but my husband has been sent far away. We have used up our money and I went to-day for work but they told me to come again."

Martuin sighed. "Have you no warm clothes?"

"Ah, this is the time to wear them, but yesterday I sold my last warm shawl for food."

Martuin sighed. He went to the little cupboard and found an old coat. "Take it," he said. "It is a poor thing, yet it may help you." He slipped some money into her hand and with this said, "Buy yourself a shawl and food till work shall be found."

"May Christ bless you!" she cried. "He must have sent me to you. It had grown so cold my little child would have frozen to death, but He, the Christ-child, led you to look through the window."

"Indeed He did," said Martuin, smiling.

The woman left. Martuin ate some sheki, washed the dishes, and sat down again by the window to work. A shadow darkened the window. Martuin looked up eagerly. It was only an acquaintance who lived a little further down the street. Again the window grew dark. This time Martuin saw that an old apple woman had stopped right in front of the window. She carried a basket with apples and over her shoulder she had a bag full of chips. One could see that the bag was heavy. She lowered it to the sidewalk and as she did so, she set the apples on a little post. A little boy with a torn cap darted up, picked an apple out of the basket and started to run but the old woman caught him, knocked off his cap, and seized him by the hair.

Martuin ran out in the cold. "Let him go, Babushka; forgive him for Christ's sake."

"I will forgive him so that he won't forget it till the new broom grows! I am going to take him to the police."

"Let him go, Babushka, let him go for Christ's sake. He will never do it again."

The old woman let him loose. The boy tried to run, but Martuin kept him back.

"Ask Babushka's forgiveness," he said, "and never do it again. I saw you take the apple."

With tears in his eyes the boy began to ask forgiveness.

"There, that's all right," said Martuin; "take the apple. I will pay for it."

"You ruin the good-for-nothings," said the old woman. "He should be well punished. He deserves it."

"Perhaps," answered Martuin, "but God forgives us though we deserve it not."

"Well, well," said the old woman, appeased, "after all it was but a childish trick." She started to lift the bag upon her shoulder.

"Let me take it," said the boy. "It is on my way."

Side by side they passed along the street, the boy carrying the bag and chattering to the old woman. Martuin turned and went back into the little room.

After sewing a little while it grew too dark to see. He lighted his little lamp, finished his piece of work, put it away, and took down his Bible. Suddenly he seemed to hear someone stepping around behind him. In the dark corner there seemed to be people standing. Then he heard a voice, "Martuin, ah, Martuin, did you not know me?"

"Who?" cried Martuin.

"It is I," replied the voice, and Stephanwitch stepped forth from the dark corner, smiled, and faded away like a little cloud.

"And this is I!" said the voice again, and from the dark corner stepped the woman and the child. The woman smiled, the child laughed, and then they, too, vanished.

"And this is I!" and the old woman and the boy stepped forward, smiled, and vanished. Then a light filled the little room and glowed about the figure of a Child and Martuin heard the words:

"For I was an hungered and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger and ye took me in." And Martuin knew that the Christ-child had really come to him that Christmas-tide. (_Adapted._)

GOD REST YE, MERRY GENTLEMEN

God rest ye, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born upon this day, To save us all from Satan's pow'r When we were gone astray. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day.

Now to the Lord sing praises, All you within this place, And with true love and brotherhood Each other now embrace; This holy tide of Christmas All others doth deface. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day.

Dinah Mulock Craik.

THE GLAD NEW YEAR

THE GLAD NEW YEAR

It's coming, boys, It's almost here. It's coming, girls, The grand New Year.

A year to be glad in, Not to be sad in; A year to live in, To gain and give in.

A year for trying, And not for sighing; A year for striving And healthy thriving.

It's coming, boys, It's almost here. It's coming, girls, The grand New Year.

Mary Mapes Dodge.

THE BAD LITTLE GOBLIN'S NEW YEAR

Mary Stewart

Come, children dear, let's sit on the floor around the fire, so, and watch those golden flames dancing and leaping. You see that very gay one just springing up the chimney? I know a story about him, a New Year's story. Let's snuggle up closer and look into the fire. You see that piece of coal black wood, there at the end? There was a horrid little goblin once who was as black as that bit of wood. His clothes were all black, his round cap looked like a bit of coal, his pointed shoes were jet black, and his face was dark with dirt and an ugly scowling expression. Altogether he was a horrid looking goblin, and he was just as hateful as he looked. There wasn't a single person who liked him. The birds hated him because he would wait after dark when all the baby birds were cuddled down in the nest, fast asleep. Then he would pop up from under the nest where he had been hiding and cry, "Morning time, wake up!" and all the babies would cry, "Chirp, chirp, Daddy bring us our breakfast!" They opened their bills so wide that it took a long time to shut them and put the excited babies to sleep again. Once Blackie, that was the goblin's name, dropped a bit of twig down into a baby's open bill and the poor bird coughed so hard that he kept the birds in the nests around awake all night. Blackie chuckled with glee and went scurrying off on another prank.

While the mother bunnies were asleep he painted the tiny white flags they wear under their tails with brown mud from the marsh. When morning-time really did come and the mother bunnies woke up and called to their children to follow them, the little bunnies couldn't see any white flags on their mothers' tails to follow, and all got lost in the long grass. It took the whole day to gather them together, and still longer to get those flags clean again.

Blackie jumped for joy. The mother bunnies would have liked to reach him with their sharp claws, but he was too quick for them.

Then Blackie found the holes where the squirrels had hidden their nuts for the winter. It had taken months to gather them, but Blackie waited until they were out hunting again, and he carried all the nuts away and hid them in the roots of an old tree where they would never think of looking!