Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because
Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own little wooden stool and
placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her
hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant that she wanted to be
told about something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which
she had been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as
to say: "Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen."
"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "It's almost Christmas time, isn't
it?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five days more now," and then she
sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice
Granny's sigh.
"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she,
looking up eagerly into Granny's face.
"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no
Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."
"Oh, but Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the
beautiful toys we saw in the village today. Surely Santa Claus has
sent enough for every little child."
"Ah, dearie, those toys are for people who can pay for them, and we
have no money to spend for Christmas toys."
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children
who live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the
village, will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They
will be glad to give some to a little girl who has none."
"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking
the soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love.
You would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads
are so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about
anybody else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head.
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing
a little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of
the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and
some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And,
Granny, dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I
gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who
lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of
our forest in his room all Christmas day?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the
Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present
yourself."
"Oh, but, Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you
forgot all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth
and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was
born! They are so loving and good that _they_ will not forget any
little child. I shall ask my dear stars tonight to tell them of us.
You know," she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very
high that they must know the angels quite well as they come and go
with their messages from the loving God."
Granny sighed as she half whispered. "Poor child, poor child!" but
Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty
kiss, saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the
stars often enough, else you would not be sad at Christmas time." Then
she danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her
to show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She
looked so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and
laughed with little Gretchen over her new snow dance. The days passed
on and the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied
up the little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful little
housewife--was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as
happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day
preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most
beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next
morning to the old sick man who lived by the mill.
The day was all too short for the happy little girl. When Granny came
trudging wearily home that night, she found the frame of the doorway
covered with green pine branches.
"It is to welcome you, Granny! It is to welcome you!" cried Gretchen;
"our dear old home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don't you
see, the branches of the evergreen make it look as if it were smiling
all over, and it is trying to say, 'A happy Christmas to you Granny'."
Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and
went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts
of the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been
trimmed by the busy little fingers, with smaller and more flexible
branches of the pine trees. A small bouquet of red mountain ash
berries stood at each side of the fireplace, and these, together with
the trimmed posts of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festive
look. Gretchen laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until
the house seemed full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had
been sad as she turned toward their home that night, thinking of the
disappointment that must come to loving little Gretchen the next
morning.
After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny's
side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny's knee asked to be
told once again the story of the coming of the Christ-Child; how the
night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful
song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and
glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had
heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of
it, and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child
wanted to hear it once more.
When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for a
little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was
time for her to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes,
such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth.
Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she
said, "Granny, don't you think that _somebody_ in all this wide world
will think of us tonight?"
"Nay, Gretchen, I do not think any one will."
"Well, then, Granny," said Gretchen, "the Christmas angels will, I
know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes and put it on the
windowsill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure
the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is."
"Ah, you foolish, foolish child," said Granny, "you are only getting
ready for a disappointment. Tomorrow morning there will be nothing
whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now."
But little Gretchen would not listen. She only shook her head and
cried out: "Ah, Granny, you do not talk enough to the stars." With
this she seized the shoe, and opening the door, hurried out to place
it on the window sill. It was very dark without and something soft and
cold seemed to gently kiss her hair and face. Gretchen knew by this
that it was snowing, and she looked up to the sky, anxious to see if
the stars were in sight, but a strong wind was tumbling the dark,
heavy snow-clouds about and had shut away all else.
"Never mind," said Gretchen softly to herself, "the stars are up
there, even if I can't see them, and the Christmas angels do not mind
snow storms."
Just then a rough wind went sweeping by the little girl, whispering
something to her which she could not understand, and then it made a
sudden rush up to the snow clouds and parted them, so that the deep
mysterious sky appeared beyond, and shining down out of the midst of
it was Gretchen's favorite star.
"Ah, little star, little star!" said the child, laughing aloud, "I
knew you were there, though I could not see you. Will you whisper to
the Christmas angels as they come by that little Gretchen wants so
very much to have a Christmas gift tomorrow morning, if they have one
to spare, and that she has put one of Granny's shoes upon the
windowsill for it?"
A moment more and the little girl, standing on tiptoe had reached the
windowsill and placed the shoe upon it, and was back again in the
house beside Granny and the warm fire.
The two went quietly to bed, and that night as little Gretchen knelt
to pray to the Heavenly Father, she thanked him for having sent the
Christ-Child into the world to teach all mankind to be loving and
unselfish, and in a few minutes she was sleeping, dreaming of the
Christmas angels.
The next morning, very early, even before the sun was up, little
Gretchen was awakened by the sound of sweet music coming from the
village. She listened for a moment and then she knew that the choir
boys were singing the Christmas carols in the open air of the village
street. She sprang up out of bed and began to dress herself as quickly
as possible, singing as she dressed. While Granny was slowly putting
on her clothes, little Gretchen having finished dressing herself,
unfastened the door and hurried out to see what the Christmas angels
had left in the old wooden shoe.
The white snow covered everything--trees, stumps, roads, and
pastures--until the whole world looked like fairy land. Gretchen
climbed up on a large stone which was beneath the window and carefully
lifted down the wooden shoe. The snow tumbled off of it in a shower
over the little girl's hands, but she did not heed that; she ran
hurriedly back into the house, putting her hand into the toe of the
shoe as she ran.
"Oh, Granny, Granny!" she exclaimed; "you did not believe the
Christmas angels would think about us, but see, they have, they have!
Here is a dear little bird nestled down in the toe of your shoe! Oh,
isn't he beautiful?"
Granny came forward and looked at what the child was holding lovingly
in her hand. There she saw a tiny chick-a-dee, whose wing was
evidently broken by the rough and boisterous winds of the night
before, and who had taken shelter in the safe, dry toe of the old
wooden shoe. She gently took the little bird out of Gretchen's hands,
and skilfully bound his broken wing to his side, so that he need not
hurt himself trying to fly with it. Then she showed Gretchen how to
make a nice warm nest for the little stranger, close beside the fire
and when their breakfast was ready, she let Gretchen feed the little
bird with a few moist crumbs.
Later in the day Gretchen carried the fresh, green boughs to the old
sick man by the mill, and on her way home stopped to enjoy the
Christmas toys of some other children that she knew, never once
wishing they were hers. When she reached home she found that the
little bird had gone to sleep. Soon, however, he opened his eyes and
stretched his head up, saying just as plain as a bird can say:
"Now, my new friends, I want you to give me something more to eat."
Gretchen gladly fed him again, and then, holding him in her lap, she
softly and gently stroked his gray feathers until the little creature
seemed to lose all fear of her. That evening Granny taught her a
Christmas hymn and told her another beautiful Christmas story. Then
Gretchen made up a funny little story to tell the birdie. He winked
his eyes and turned his head from side to side in such a droll fashion
that Gretchen laughed until the tears came.
As Granny and she got ready for bed that night, Gretchen put her arms
softly around Granny's neck, and whispered: "What a beautiful
Christmas we have had today, Granny. Is there anything more lovely in
all the world than Christmas?"
"Nay, child, nay," said Granny, "not to such loving hearts as yours."
[*] Reprinted by permission of the author from her collection,
"Christmastide." Published by the Chicago Kindergarten College.
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD[*]
By Maud Lindsay
The shepherd was sick and the shepherd's wife looked out from her door
with anxious eyes. "Who will carry the sheep to the pasture lands
today?" she said to her little boy Jean.
"I will," cried Jean, "I will. Mother, let me."
Jean and his father and mother lived long ago in a sunny land across
the sea, where flowers bloom, and birds sing, and shepherds feed their
flocks in the green valleys. Every morning, as soon as it was light,
Jean's father was up and away with his sheep. He had never missed a
morning before, and the sheep were bleating in the fold as if to say,
"Don't forget us today."
The sheep were Jean's playfellows. There was nothing he liked better
than to wander with them in the pleasant pastures, and already they
knew his voice and followed at his call.
"Let the lad go," said his old grandfather. "When I was no older than
he I watched my father's flock."
Jean's father said the same thing, so the mother made haste to get the
little boy ready.
"Eat your dinner when the shadows lie straight across the grass," she
said as she kissed him good-bye.
"And keep the sheep from the forest paths," called his sick father.
"And watch, for it is when the shepherd is not watching that the wolf
comes to the flock," said the old grandfather.
"Never fear," said little Jean. "The wolf shall not have any of my
white lambs."
They were white sheep and black sheep and frolicsome lambs in the
shepherd's flock, and each one had a name of its own. There was
Babbette, and Nannette, and Pierrot, and Jeannot,--I cannot tell them
all, but Jean knew every name.
"Come, Bettine and Marie. Come, Pierrot and Croisette. Come, pretty
ones all," he called as he led them from the fold that day. "I will
carry you to the meadows where the daisies grow."
"Baa," answered the sheep, well satisfied, as they followed him down
the king's highway, and over the hill to the pasture lands.
The other shepherds were already there with their flocks, so Jean was
not lonely. He watered his sheep at the dancing brook that ran through
the flowers, and led them along its shady banks to feed in the sunny
fields beyond, and not one lambkin strayed from his care to the forest
paths.
The forest lay dim and shadowy on one side of the pasture lands. The
deer lived there, and the boars that fed upon acorns, and many other
creatures that loved the wild woods. There had been wolves in the
forest, but the king's knights had driven them away and the shepherds
feared them no longer. Only the old men like Jean's grandfather, and
the little boys like Jean, talked of them still.
Jean was not afraid. Oh, no. There was not a lamb in the flock so
merry and fearless as he. He sang with the birds and ran with the
brook, and laughed till the echoes laughed with him as he watched the
sheep from early morn to noon, when the shadows fell straight across
the grass and it was time for him to eat his dinner.
There were little cakes in Jean's dinner basket. He had seen his
mother put them there, but he had not tasted a single one when, out on
the king's highway, beyond the hill, he heard the sound of pipes and
drums, and the tramp, tramp of many feet.
The other shepherds heard too, and they began to listen and to stare
and to run. "The king and his knights are coming," they cried. "Come
let us see them as they pass by."
"Who will take care of the sheep?" asked Jean, but nobody answered, so
he too left his dinner and ran with the rest, away from the pastures
and up the hillside path that led to the highway.
"How pleased my mother will be when I tell her that I have seen the
king," he said to himself, and he was hurrying over the hill top when
all at once he remembered the forest, and the wolf, and his
grandfather's words.
"Come on," called the others.
"I must stay with the sheep," answered he; and he turned and went
back, though the pipes and the drums all seemed to say, "Come this
way, come this way." He could scarcely keep from crying as he
listened.
There was nothing in sight to harm the sheep, and the pasture lands
were quiet and peaceful, but into the forest that very day a hungry
gray wolf had come. His eyes were bright and his ears were sharp and
his four feet were as soft as velvet, as he came creeping, creeping,
creeping under the houses and through the tanglewood. He put his nose
out and sniffed the air, and he put his head out and spied the sheep
left alone in the meadows. "Now's my chance," he said, and out he
sprang just as little Jean down the hill.
"Wolf, wolf, wolf!" shouted Jean. "Wolf, wolf, wolf!" He was only a
little boy, but he was brave and his voice rang clear as a bugle call
over the valley, and over the hill, "Wolf, wolf, wolf!"
The shepherds and knights and the king himself came running and riding
to answer his cry, and as for the gray wolf, he did not even stop to
look behind him as he sped away to the forest shades. He ran so fast
and he ran so far that he was never seen in the king's country again,
though the shepherds in the pastures watched for him day after day.
Jean led his flock home at eventide, white sheep and black sheep and
frolicsome lambs, not one was missing.
"Was the day long?" asked his mother, who was watching in the doorway
for him.
"Are the sheep all in?" called the sick father.
"Did the wolf come?" said the old grandfather; but there is no need
for me to tell you what _Jean_ said. You can imagine that for
yourself.
[*] From "More Mother Stories," by Maud Lindsay. Used by permission of
the author and the publishers--the Milton Bradley Company.
BABOUSCKA[*]
Russian Legend
It was the night the dear Christ Child came to Bethlehem. In a country
far away from Him, an old, old woman named Babouscka sat in her snug
little house by her warm fire. The wind was drifting the snow outside
and howling down the chimney, but it only made Babouscka's fire burn
more brightly.
"How glad I am that I may stay indoors!" said Babouscka, holding her
hands out to the bright blaze. But suddenly she heard a loud rap at
her door. She opened it and her candle shone on three old men standing
outside in the snow. Their beards were as white as the snow, and so
long that they reached the ground. Their eyes shone kindly in the
light of Babouscka's candle, and their arms were full of precious
things--boxes of jewels, and sweet-smelling oils, and ointments.
"We have traveled far, Babouscka," said they, "and we stop to tell you
of the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule the
world and teach all men to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts.
Come with us, Babouscka!"
But Babouscka looked at the driving snow, and then inside at her cozy
room and the crackling fire. "It is too late for me to go with you,
good sirs," she said, "the weather is too cold." She went inside again
and shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem without
her. But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to think
about the little Christ Child, for she loved all babies.
"Tomorrow I will go to find Him," she said; "tomorrow, when it is
light, and I will carry Him some toys."
So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak, and took her
staff, and filled a basket with the pretty things a baby would
like--gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs--and
she set out to find the Christ Child.
But, oh! Babouscka had forgotten to ask the three old men the road to
Bethlehem, and they had traveled so far through the night that she
could not overtake them. Up and down the roads she hurried, through
woods and fields and towns, saying to whomsoever she met: "I go to
find the Christ Child. Where does he lie? I bring some pretty toys for
His sake."
But no one could tell her the way to go, and they all said: "Farther
on, Babouscka, farther on." So she traveled on, and on, and on for
years and years--but she never found the little Christ Child.
They say that old Babouscka is traveling still, looking for Him. When
it comes Christmas eve, and the children are lying fast asleep,
Babouscka comes softly through the snowy fields and towns, wrapped in
her long cloak and carrying her basket on her arm. With her staff she
raps gently at the doors and goes inside and holds her candle close to
the little children's faces.
"Is He here?" she asks. "Is the little Christ Child here?" And then
she turns sorrowfully away again, crying: "Farther on, farther on."
But before she leaves she takes a toy from her basket and lays it
beside the pillow for a Christmas gift. "For His sake," she says
softly and then hurries on through the years and forever in search of
the little Christ Child.
[*] From "For the Children's Hour," by Bailey and Lewis. Used by
permission of the authors and also the publishers--Milton Bradley
Company.
THE BOY WITH THE BOX
By Mary Griggs Van Voorhis
It was an ideal Christmas day. The sun shone brightly but the air was
crisp and cold, and snow and ice lay sparkling everywhere. A light
wind, the night before, had swept the blue, icebound river clean of
scattering snow; and, by two o'clock in the afternoon, the broad bend
near Creighton's mill was fairly alive with skaters. The girls in gay
caps and scarfs, the boys in sweaters and mackinaws of every
conceivable hue, with here and there a plump, matronly figure in a
plush coat or a tiny fellow in scarlet, made a picture of life and
brilliancy worthy of an artist's finest skill.
Tom Reynolds moved in and out among the happy throng, with swift, easy
strokes, his cap on the back of his curly head, and his brown eyes
shining with excitement. Now and again, he glanced down with
pardonable pride, at the brand new skates that twinkled beneath his
feet. "Jolly Ramblers," sure enough "Jolly Ramblers" they were! Ever
since Ralph Evans had remarked, with a tantalizing toss of his
handsome head, that "no game fellow would try to skate on anything but
'Jolly Ramblers,'" Tom had yearned, with an inexpressible longing, for
a pair of these wonderful skates. And now they were his and the ice
was fine and the Christmas sun was shining!
Tom was rounding the big bend for the fiftieth time, when he saw,
skimming gracefully toward him through the merry crowd, a tall boy in
a fur-trimmed coat, his handsome head proudly erect.
"That's Ralph Evans now," said Tom to himself. "Just wait till you see
these skates, old boy, and maybe you won't feel so smart!" And with
slow, cautious strokes, he made his way through laughing boys and
girls to a place just in front of the tall skater, coming toward him
down the broad white way. When Ralph was almost upon him, Tom paused
and in conspicuous silence, looked down at his shining skates.
"Hullo," said Ralph good naturedly, seizing Tom's arm and swinging
around. Then, taking in the situation with a careless glance, he
added, "Get a new pair of skates for Christmas?"
"'Jolly Ramblers,'" said Tom impressively, "the best 'Jolly Ramblers'
in the market!"
Ralph was a full half head the taller, but, as Tom delivered himself
of this speech with his head held high, he felt every inch as tall as
the boy before him.
If Ralph was deeply impressed he failed to show it, as he answered
carelessly, "Huh, that so? Pretty good little skates they are, the
'Jolly Ramblers!'"
"You said no game fellow would use any other make," said Tom hotly.
"O but that was nearly a year ago," said Ralph. "I got a new pair of
skates for Christmas, too," he added, as if it had just occurred to
him, "'Club House' skates, something new in the market just this
season. Just look at the curve of that skate, will you?" he added,
lifting a foot for inspection, "and that clamp that you couldn't shake
off if you had to! They're guaranteed for a year, too, and if anything
gives out, you get a new pair for nothing. Three and a half, they
cost, at Mr. Harrison's hardware store. I gave my 'Jolly Ramblers' to
a kid about your size. A mighty good little skate they are!" And, with
a long, graceful stroke, Ralph Evans skated away.
And it seemed to Tom Reynolds that all his Christmas joy went skimming
away behind him. The sun still shone, the ice still gleamed, the
skaters laughed and sang, but Tom moved slowly on, with listless,
heavy strokes. The "Jolly Ramblers" still twinkled beneath his feet,
but he looked down at them no more. What was the use of "Jolly
Ramblers" when Ralph Evans had a pair of "Club House" skates that cost
a dollar more, had a graceful curve, and a faultless clamp, and were
guaranteed for a year?
It was only four o'clock when Tom slipped his new skates carelessly
over his shoulder and started up the bank for home. He was slouching
down the main street, head down, hands thrust deep into his pockets,
when, on turning a corner, he ran plump into--a full moon! Now I know
it is rather unusual for full moons to be walking about the streets by
daylight; but that is the only adequate description of the round,
freckled face that beamed at Tom from behind a great box, held by two
sturdy arms.
"That came pretty near being a collision," said the owner of the full
moon, still beaming, as he set down the box and leaned against a
building to rest a moment.