air flocked to her service. They followed her through the rows of corn,
and made war on the tiny enemies that gnawed at the roots of the grain.
And at harvest-time the grateful Onatah scattered the first gathered
corn over her broad lands, and the little birds, fluttering and singing,
joyfully partook of the feast spread for them on the meadow-ground.
THE HORN OF PLENTY
BY OVID (ADAPTED)
Aeneus, King of Aetolia, had a daughter whose name was Deianira. So
beautiful was the maiden that her fame spread throughout the world, and
many princes came to woo her. Among these were two strangers, who drove
all the other suitors from the hall of King Aeneus.
One was Hercules, huge of limb and broad of shoulder. He was clad in
the skins of beasts, and carried in his hand a knotted club. His tangled
hair hung down upon his brawny neck, and his fierce eyes gleamed from
behind his shaggy brows.
The other stranger was Achelous, god of the Calydonian River. Slender
and graceful was he, and clad in flowing green raiment. In his hand
he carried a staff of plaited reeds, and on his head was a crown of
water-lilies. His voice was soft and caressing, like the gentle murmur
of summer brooks.
“O King Aeneus,” said Achelous, standing before the throne, “behold I
am the King of Waters. If thou wilt receive me as thy son-in-law I will
make the beautiful Deianira queen of my river kingdom.”
“King Aeneus,” said the mighty Hercules, stepping forward, “Deianira is
mine, and I will not yield her to this river-god.”
“Impertinent stranger!” cried Achelous, turning toward the hero, while
his voice rose till it sounded like the thunder of distant cataracts,
and his green garment changed to the blackness of night,--“impertinent
stranger! how darest thou claim this maiden,--thou who hast mortal blood
in thy veins! Behold me, the god Achelous, the powerful King of the
Waters! I wind with majesty through the rich lands of my wide realms. I
make all fields through which I flow beautiful with grass and flowers.
By my right divine I claim this maiden.”
But with scowling eye and rising wrath Hercules made answer. “Thou
wouldst fight with words, like a woman, while I would win by my
strength! My right hand is better than my tongue. If thou wouldst have
the maiden, then must thou first overcome me in combat.”
Thereupon Achelous threw off his raiment and began to prepare himself
for the struggle. Hercules took off his garment of beasts' skins, and
cast aside his club. The two then anointed their bodies with oil, and
threw yellow sand upon themselves.
They took their places, they attacked, they retired, they rushed again
to the conflict. They stood firm, and they yielded not. Long they
bravely wrestled and fought; till at length Hercules by his might
overcame Achelous and bore him to the ground. He pressed him down, and,
while the fallen river-god lay panting for breath, the hero seized him
by the neck.
Then did Achelous have recourse to his magic arts. Transforming himself
into a serpent he escaped from the hero. He twisted his body into
winding folds, and darted out his forked tongue with frightful hissings.
But Hercules laughed mockingly, and cried out: “Ah, Achelous! While yet
in my cradle I strangled two serpents! And what art thou compared to the
Hydra whose hundred heads I cut off? Every time I cut of I one head two
others grew in its place. Yet did I conquer that horror, in spite of its
branching serpents that darted from every wound! Thinkest thou, then,
that I fear thee, thou mimic snake?” And even as he spake he gripped, as
with a pair of pincers, the back of the river-god's head.
And Achelous struggled in vain to escape. Then, again having recourse to
his magic, he became a raging bull, and renewed the fight. But Hercules,
that mighty hero, threw his huge arms over the brawny neck of the bull,
and dragged him about. Then seizing hold of his horns, he bent his head
to one side, and bearing down fastened them into the ground. And that
was not enough, but with relentless hand he broke one of the horns, and
tore it from Achelous's forehead.
The river-god returned to his own shape. He roared aloud with rage and
pain, and hiding his mutilated head in his mantle, rushed from the hall
and plunged into the swirling waters of his stream.
Then the goddess of Plenty, and all the Wood-Nymphs and Water-Nymphs
came forward to greet the conqueror with song and dance. They took
the huge horn of Achelous and heaped it high with the rich and glowing
fruits and flowers of autumn. They wreathed it with vines and with
clustering grapes, and bearing it aloft presented it to Hercules and his
beautiful bride Deianira.
And ever since that day has the Horn of Plenty gladdened men's hearts at
Harvest-Time.
CHRISTMAS DAY
(DECEMBER 25)
LITTLE PICCOLA
AFTER CELIA THAXTER
In the sunny land of France there lived many years ago a sweet little
maid named Piccola.
Her father had died when she was a baby, and her mother was very poor
and had to work hard all day in the fields for a few sous.
Little Piccola had no dolls and toys, and she was often hungry and cold,
but she was never sad nor lonely.
What if there were no children for her to play with! What if she did not
have fine clothes and beautiful toys! In summer there were always the
birds in the forest, and the flowers in the fields and meadows,--the
birds sang so sweetly, and the flowers were so bright and pretty!
In the winter when the ground was covered with snow, Piccola helped her
mother, and knit long stockings of blue wool.
The snow-birds had to be fed with crumbs, if she could find any, and
then, there was Christmas Day.
But one year her mother was ill and could not earn any money. Piccola
worked hard all the day long, and sold the stockings which she knit,
even when her own little bare feet were blue with the cold.
As Christmas Day drew near she said to her mother, “I wonder what the
good Saint Nicholas will bring me this year. I cannot hang my stocking
in the fireplace, but I shall put my wooden shoe on the hearth for him.
He will not forget me, I am sure.”
“Do not think of it this year, my dear child,” replied her mother. “We
must be glad if we have bread enough to eat.”
But Piccola could not believe that the good saint would forget her. On
Christmas Eve she put her little wooden patten on the hearth before the
fire, and went to sleep to dream of Saint Nicholas.
As the poor mother looked at the little shoe, she thought how unhappy
her dear child would be to find it empty in the morning, and wished that
she had something, even if it were only a tiny cake, for a Christmas
gift. There was nothing in the house but a few sous, and these must be
saved to buy bread.
When the morning dawned Piccola awoke and ran to her shoe.
Saint Nicholas had come in the night. He had not forgotten the little
child who had thought of him with such faith.
See what he had brought her. It lay in the wooden patten, looking up at
her with its two bright eyes, and chirping contentedly as she stroked
its soft feathers.
A little swallow, cold and hungry, had flown into the chimney and down
to the room, and had crept into the shoe for warmth.
Piccola danced for joy, and clasped the shivering swallow to her breast.
She ran to her mother's bedside. “Look, look!” she cried. “A Christmas
gift, a gift from the good Saint Nicholas!” And she danced again in her
little bare feet.
Then she fed and warmed the bird, and cared for it tenderly all winter
long; teaching it to take crumbs from her hand and her lips, and to sit
on her shoulder while she was working.
In the spring she opened the window for it to fly away, but it lived
in the woods near by all summer, and came often in the early morning to
sing its sweetest songs at her door.
THE STRANGER CHILD
A LEGEND
BY COUNT FRANZ POCCI (TRANSLATED)
There once lived a laborer who earned his daily bread by cutting wood.
His wife and two children, a boy and girl, helped him with his work. The
boy's name was Valentine, and the girl's, Marie. They were obedient and
pious and the joy and comfort of their poor parents.
One winter evening, this good family gathered about the table to eat
their small loaf of bread, while the father read aloud from the Bible.
Just as they sat down there came a knock on the window, and a sweet
voice called:--
“O let me in! I am a little child, and I have nothing to eat, and no
place to sleep in. I am so cold and hungry! Please, good people, let me
in!”
Valentine and Marie sprang from the table and ran to open the door,
saying:--
“Come in, poor child, we have but very little ourselves, not much more
than thou hast, but what we have we will share with thee.”
The stranger Child entered, and going to the fire began to warm his cold
hands.
The children gave him a portion of their bread, and said:--
“Thou must be very tired; come, lie down in our bed, and we will sleep
on the bench here before the fire.”
Then answered the stranger Child: “May God in Heaven reward you for your
kindness.”
They led the little guest to their small room, laid him in their bed,
and covered him closely, thinking to themselves:--
“Oh! how much we have to be thankful for! We have our nice warm room and
comfortable bed, while this Child has nothing but the sky for a roof,
and the earth for a couch.”
When the parents went to their bed, Valentine and Marie lay down on the
bench before the fire, and said one to the other:--
“The stranger Child is happy now, because he is so warm! Good-night!”
Then they fell asleep.
They had not slept many hours, when little Marie awoke, and touching her
brother lightly, whispered:--
“Valentine, Valentine, wake up! wake up! Listen to the beautiful music
at the window.”
Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. He heard the most wonderful
singing and the sweet notes of many harps.
“Blessed Child,
Thee we greet,
With sound of harp
And singing sweet.
“Sleep in peace,
Child so bright,
We have watched thee
All the night.
“Blest the home
That holdeth Thee,
Peace, and love,
Its guardians be.”
The children listened to the beautiful singing, and it seemed to fill
them with unspeakable happiness. Then creeping to the window they looked
out.
They saw a rosy light in the east, and, before the house in the snow,
stood a number of little children holding golden harps and lutes in
their hands, and dressed in sparkling, silver robes.
Full of wonder at this sight, Valentine and Marie continued to gaze out
at the window, when they heard a sound behind them, and turning saw the
stranger Child standing near. He was clad in a golden garment, and wore
a glistening, golden crown upon his soft hair. Sweetly he spoke to the
children:--
“I am the Christ Child, who wanders about the world seeking to bring
joy and good things to loving children. Because you have lodged me this
night I will leave with you my blessing.”
As the Christ Child spoke He stepped from the door, and breaking off
a bough from a fir tree that grew near, planted it in the ground,
saying:--
“This bough shall grow into a tree, and every year it shall bear
Christmas fruit for you.”
Having said this He vanished from their sight, together with the
silver-clad, singing children--the angels.
And, as Valentine and Marie looked on in wonder, the fir bough grew, and
grew, and grew, into a stately Christmas Tree laden with golden apples,
silver nuts, and lovely toys. And after that, every year at Christmas
time, the Tree bore the same wonderful fruit.
And you, dear boys and girls, when you gather around your richly
decorated trees, think of the two poor children who shared their bread
with a stranger child, and be thankful.
SAINT CHRISTOPHER
A GOLDEN LEGEND
ENGLISHED BY WILLIAM CAXTON (ADAPTED)
Christopher was a Canaanite, and he was of a right great stature, twelve
cubits in height, and had a terrible countenance. And it is said that as
he served and dwelled with the King of Canaan, it came in his mind that
he would seek the greatest prince that was in the world, and him would
he serve and obey.
So he went forth and came to a right great king, whom fame said was the
greatest of the world. And when the king saw him he received him into
his service, and made him to dwell in his court.
Upon a time a minstrel sang before him a song in which he named oft the
devil. And the king, who was a Christian, when he heard him name the
devil, made anon the sign of the cross.
And when Christopher saw that he marveled, and asked what the sign might
mean. And because the king would not say, he said: “If thou tell me not,
I shall no longer dwell with thee.”
And then the King told him, saying: “Alway when I hear the devil named
make I this sign lest he grieve or annoy me.”
Then said Christopher to him: “Fearest thou the devil? Then is the devil
more mighty and greater than thou art. I am then deceived, for I had
supposed that I had found the most mighty and the most greatest lord in
all the world! Fare thee well, for I will now go seek the devil to be my
lord and I his servant.”
So Christopher departed from this king and hastened to seek the devil.
And as he went by a great desert he saw a company of knights, and one of
them, a knight cruel and horrible, came to him and demanded whither he
went.
And Christopher answered: “I go to seek the devil for to be my master.”
Then said the knight: “I am he that thou seekest.”
And then Christopher was glad and bound himself to be the devil's
servant, and took him for his master and lord.
Now, as they went along the way they found there a cross, erect and
standing. And anon as the devil saw the cross he was afeared and fled.
And when Christopher saw that he marveled and demanded why he was
afeared, and why he fled away. And the devil would not tell him in no
wise.
Then Christopher said to him: “If thou wilt not tell me, I shall anon
depart from thee and shall serve thee no more.”
Wherefore the devil was forced to tell him and said: “There was a man
called Christ, which was hanged on the cross, and when I see his sign I
am sore afraid and flee from it.”
To whom Christopher said: “Then he is greater and more mightier than
thou, since thou art afraid of his sign, and I see well that I have
labored in vain, and have not founden the greatest lord of the world. I
will serve thee no longer, but I will go seek Christ.”
And when Christopher had long sought where he should find Christ, at
last he came into a great desert, to a hermit that dwelt there. And he
inquired of him where Christ was to be found.
Then answered the hermit: “The king whom thou desirest to serve,
requireth that thou must often fast.”
Christopher said: “Require of me some other thing and I shall do it, but
fast I may not.”
And the hermit said: “Thou must then wake and make many prayers.”
And Christopher said: “I do not know how to pray, so this I may not do.”
And the hermit said: “Seest thou yonder deep and wide river, in which
many people have perished? Because thou art noble, and of high stature
and strong of limb, so shalt thou live by the river and thou shalt bear
over all people who pass that way. And this thing will be pleasing to
our Lord Jesu Christ, whom thou desirest to serve, and I hope he shall
show himself to thee.”
Then said Christopher: “Certes, this service may I well do, and I
promise Him to do it.”
Then went Christopher to this river, and built himself there a hut. He
carried a great pole in his hand, to support himself in the water, and
bore over on his shoulders all manner of people to the other side. And
there he abode, thus doing many days.
And on a time, as he slept in his hut, he heard the voice of a child
which called him:--
“Christopher, Christopher, come out and bear me over.”
Then he awoke and went out, but he found no man. And when he was again
in his house he heard the same voice, crying:--
“Christopher, Christopher, come out and bear me over.”
And he ran out and found nobody.
And the third time he was called and ran thither, and he found a Child
by the brink of the river, which prayed him goodly to bear him over the
water.
And then Christopher lifted up the Child on his shoulders, and took his
staff, and entered into the river for to pass over. And the water of the
river arose and swelled more and more; and the Child was heavy as lead,
and always as Christopher went farther the water increased and grew
more, and the Child more and more waxed heavy, insomuch that Christopher
suffered great anguish and was afeared to be drowned.
And when he was escaped with great pain, and passed over the water, and
set the Child aground, he said:--
“Child, thou hast put me in great peril. Thou weighest almost as I had
all the world upon me. I might bear no greater burden.”
And the Child answered: “Christopher, marvel thee nothing, for thou hast
not only borne all the world upon thee, but thou hast borne Him that
created and made all the world, upon thy shoulders. I am Jesu Christ the
King whom thou servest. And that thou mayest know that I say the truth,
set thy staff in the earth by thy house, and thou shalt see to-morn that
it shall bear flowers and fruit.”
And anon the Child vanished from his eyes.
And then Christopher set his staff in the earth, and when he arose on
the morn, he found his staff bearing flowers, leaves, and dates.
THE CHRISTMAS ROSE
AN OLD LEGEND
BY LIZZIE DEAS (ADAPTED)
When the Magi laid their rich offerings of myrrh, frankincense, and
gold, by the bed of the sleeping Christ Child, legend says that a
shepherd maiden stood outside the door quietly weeping.
She, too, had sought the Christ Child. She, too, desired to bring him
gifts. But she had nothing to offer, for she was very poor indeed. In
vain she had searched the countryside over for one little flower to
bring Him, but she could find neither bloom nor leaf, for the winter had
been cold.
And as she stood there weeping, an angel passing saw her sorrow, and
stooping he brushed aside the snow at her feet. And there sprang up on
the spot a cluster of beautiful winter roses,--waxen white with pink
tipped petals.
“Nor myrrh, nor frankincense, nor gold,” said the angel, “is offering
more meet for the Christ Child than these pure Christmas Roses.”
Joyfully the shepherd maiden gathered the flowers and made her offering
to the Holy Child.
THE WOODEN SHOES OF LITTLE WOLFF
BY FRANCOIS COPPEE (ADAPTED)
Once upon a time,--so long ago that the world has forgotten the
date,--in a city of the North of Europe,--the name of which is so hard
to pronounce that no one remembers it,--there was a little boy, just
seven years old, whose name was Wolff. He was an orphan and lived with
his aunt, a hard-hearted, avaricious old woman, who never kissed him but
once a year, on New Year's Day; and who sighed with regret every time
she gave him a bowlful of soup.
The poor little boy was so sweet-tempered that he loved the old woman in
spite of her bad treatment, but he could not look without trembling at
the wart, decorated with four gray hairs, which grew on the end of her
nose.
As Wolff's aunt was known to have a house of her own and a woolen
stocking full of gold, she did not dare to send her nephew to the school
for the poor. But she wrangled so that the schoolmaster of the rich
boys' school was forced to lower his price and admit little Wolff among
his pupils. The bad schoolmaster was vexed to have a boy so meanly clad
and who paid so little, and he punished little Wolff severely without
cause, ridiculed him, and even incited against him his comrades, who
were the sons of rich citizens. They made the orphan their drudge and
mocked at him so much that the little boy was as miserable as the
stones in the street, and hid himself away in corners to cry--when the
Christmas season came.
On the Eve of the great Day the schoolmaster was to take all his pupils
to the midnight mass, and then to conduct them home again to their
parents' houses.
Now as the winter was very severe, and a quantity of snow had fallen
within the past few days, the boys came to the place of meeting warmly
wrapped up, with fur-lined caps drawn down over their ears, padded
jackets, gloves and knitted mittens, and good strong shoes with thick
soles. Only little Wolff presented himself shivering in his thin
everyday clothes, and wearing on his feet socks and wooden shoes.
His naughty comrades tried to annoy him in every possible way, but
the orphan was so busy warming his hands by blowing on them, and was
suffering so much from chilblains, that he paid no heed to the taunts of
the others. Then the band of boys, marching two by two, started for the
parish church.
It was comfortable inside the church, which was brilliant with lighted
tapers. And the pupils, made lively by the gentle warmth, the sound of
the organ, and the singing of the choir, began to chatter in low tones.
They boasted of the midnight treats awaiting them at home. The son of
the Mayor had seen, before leaving the house, a monstrous goose larded
with truffles so that it looked like a black-spotted leopard. Another
boy told of the fir tree waiting for him, on the branches of which hung
oranges, sugar-plums, and punchinellos. Then they talked about what the
Christ Child would bring them, or what he would leave in their shoes
which they would certainly be careful to place before the fire when they
went to bed. And the eyes of the little rogues, lively as a crowd of
mice, sparkled with delight as they thought of the many gifts they
would find on waking,--the pink bags of burnt almonds, the bonbons, lead
soldiers standing in rows, menageries, and magnificent jumping-jacks,
dressed in purple and gold.
Little Wolff, alas! knew well that his miserly old aunt would send him
to bed without any supper; but as he had been good and industrious all
the year, he trusted that the Christ Child would not forget him, so he
meant that night to set his wooden shoes on the hearth.
The midnight mass was ended. The worshipers hurried away, anxious to
enjoy the treats awaiting them in their homes. The band of pupils, two
by two, following the schoolmaster, passed out of the church.
Now, under the porch, seated on a stone bench, in the shadow of an
arched niche, was a child asleep,--a little child dressed in a white
garment and with bare feet exposed to the cold. He was not a beggar, for
his dress was clean and new, and--beside him upon the ground, tied in a
cloth, were the tools of a carpenter's apprentice.
Under the light of the stars, his face, with its closed eyes, shone
with an expression of divine sweetness, and his soft, curling blond hair
seemed to form an aureole of light about his forehead. But his tender
feet, blue with the cold on this cruel night of December, were pitiful
to see!
The pupils so warmly clad and shod, passed with indifference before
the unknown child. Some, the sons of the greatest men in the city, cast
looks of scorn on the barefooted one. But little Wolff, coming last
out of the church, stopped deeply moved before the beautiful, sleeping
child.
“Alas!” said the orphan to himself, “how dreadful! This poor little one
goes without stockings in weather so cold! And, what is worse, he has no
shoe to leave beside him while he sleeps, so that the Christ Child may
place something in it to comfort him in all his misery.”
And carried away by his tender heart, little Wolff drew off the wooden
shoe from his right foot, placed it before the sleeping child; and as
best as he was able, now hopping, now limping, and wetting his sock in
the snow, he returned to his aunt.
“You good-for-nothing!” cried the old woman, full of rage as she saw
that one of his shoes was gone. “What have you done with your shoe,
little beggar?”
Little Wolff did not know how to lie, and, though shivering with terror
as he saw the gray hairs on the end of her nose stand upright, he tried,
stammering, to tell his adventure.
But the old miser burst into frightful laughter. “Ah! the sweet young
master takes off his shoe for a beggar! Ah! master spoils a pair of
shoes for a barefoot! This is something new, indeed! Ah! well, since
things are so, I will place the shoe that is left in the fireplace, and
to-night the Christ Child will put in a rod to whip you when you wake.
And to-morrow you shall have nothing to eat but water and dry bread, and
we shall see if the next time you will give away your shoe to the first
vagabond that comes along.”
And saying this the wicked woman gave him a box on each ear, and made
him climb to his wretched room in the loft. There the heartbroken little
one lay down in the darkness, and, drenching his pillow with tears, fell
asleep.