laid his brown finger lightly on the four empty corners of the
cabinet. And Hyacinthe saw the squares of reddish wood ripple and
heave and break, as little clouds when the wind goes through the sky.
And out of them thrust forth the little birds, and after them the
lilies, for a moment living; but even as Hyacinthe looked, settling
back into the sweet reddish-brown wood. Then the stranger smiled
again, laid all the tools in order, and, opening the door, went away
into the woods.
Hyacinthe crept slowly to the door. The winter sun, half risen, filled
all the frosty air with splendid gold. Far down the road a figure
seemed to move amid the glory, but the splendor was such that
Hyacinthe was blinded. His breath came sharply as the glow beat on the
wretched shed, on the old shavings, on the cabinet with the little
birds and the lilies carved at the corners.
He was too pure of heart to feel afraid. But "Blessed be the Lord,"
whispered Hyacinthe, clasping his slow hands, "for He hath visited and
redeemed His people. But who will believe?"
Then the sun of Christ's day rose gloriously, and the little sparrow
came from his nest among the shavings and shook his wings to the
light.
[*] Reprinted by permission of the publishers of "Everyland."
THE SHEPHERD WHO DIDN'T GO[*]
By Jay T. Stocking
You have all heard of the shepherds who went to Bethlehem, but I do
not believe any of you have heard of the shepherd who didn't go. The
Bible does not say anything about him, but his story has come to me,
and I am going to tell it to you.
The city of Bethlehem stood on a hill. Below the town, with its steep
narrow streets and white walls, were gray olive orchards. Below the
orchards were gardens bright with flowers. Below the gardens lay green
meadows, and beyond these pasture-lands that stretched away to the
wilderness plains where little patches of grass grew among the bushes
and between the great rocks. There were caves among these rocks where
wolves used to skulk and sometimes robbers hid. So the shepherds who
guarded their flocks in these wild pastures dared not leave them
alone.
One clear beautiful night, many centuries ago, four shepherds were
watching their flocks on these pastures. Samuel, Ezra, Joel, and
Dahvid were their names. Samuel, Ezra, and Joel were strong men, no
longer young, with shaggy eyebrows and brown beards; Ezra's was short,
Joel's long, and Samuel's streaked with gray. They owned the flocks
which they tended. Dahvid was a boy with ruddy cheeks, bright eyes,
and strong lithe limbs. He cared for the flocks of old Abraham.
Abraham was old and rich, and did not work any more, but hired
Dahvid, whose family was very poor, to care for his sheep.
The flocks of the four shepherds were lying quiet on the plain far
below the city, and near by Samuel, Ezra, Joel, and Dahvid lay wrapped
in their shepherds' cloaks.
"Samuel," said Dahvid, rising upon his elbow.
"What is it, Dahvid?" asked the other in a deep voice.
"Are you not glad that you tend sheep in Bethlehem instead of some
distant place?"
"Why, Dahvid?" asked Samuel sleepily.
"Because it is in Bethlehem that the King we have been looking for so
long is to be born. I have been reading it in the prophets only
today."
"Have you only just heard of that?" asked Ezra sourly.
"No," replied the boy hotly. "I have heard my mother tell of it ever
since I can remember, and I have read it over and over again. Samuel!"
"Yes, Dahvid?"
"Do you think we shall ever see the promised King?"
"I do not know, my boy," the older man answered sadly. "We have waited
long, and there seems little hope for Israel now. But he will come
some day, he will come some day. Why do you ask, Dahvid?"
"I cannot tell. It is often in my mind. Something makes me think of it
tonight. Perhaps it is because I read of him today. Samuel, I would
walk to the end of the earth to see the Christ-child."
"Well, you need not start now," grumbled Ezra, and Joel added roughly,
"Go to sleep, boy, the hour is late."
It was much later before Dahvid fell asleep, for his head was full of
dreams, and the stories of wonderful days to come that his mother had
told him. But at length he joined the rest in healthy slumber.
Suddenly it seemed to each of them that something had passed over him,
and touched him lightly on the cheek. The older men raised themselves
on their elbows, but Dahvid sprang to his feet. At first they saw only
a great light, which nearly blinded them, then they discerned a
shining form in the sky, and heard a voice saying: "Be not afraid; for
behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all
the people; for there is born to you this day in the city of David a
Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this is the sign unto you: Ye
shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."
And then all the sky was full of light, and the air was full of
heavenly voices, singing, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good will toward men."
While the shepherds listened, half joyful, half afraid, the light
faded and the voices floated away--"Good will to men--to men--to men,"
and all was still as before. For a moment the shepherds looked at each
other in silent awe and wonder. Then Ezra spoke in a voice dry with
fear. "What was it?"
Dahvid stood speechless, and Samuel answered reverently, "Angels."
"Brothers," he continued, "a wonderful thing has happened to us. It
has been a long, long day since angels have spoken to men."
Then he girded his shepherd's cloak about him and seized his staff.
"Come, Ezra, Joel, Dahvid, let us be going."
"Going--where?" asked Ezra and Joel.
"Why, to Bethlehem to see the Child. Did not the angel tell us the
sign? Let us go at once to find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes
and lying in a manger."
"There be many mangers in Bethlehem," objected Ezra.
"I know not how we shall find him," said Joel. "It is a vain search, I
fear," and he drew his cloak about him and reached for his staff, "but
I will go with you if you say."
So they started, Samuel, Ezra, and Joel--but Dahvid stood still.
"Come, Dahvid, make haste!" called Samuel.
But the boy did not move.
"I cannot go," he said.
"Cannot go!" cried Samuel in amazement; and Ezra added, "Who said but
a little while ago that he would go to the end of the earth to see the
King?"
"And so I would," cried Dahvid; "but the sheep--we cannot leave the
sheep alone."
"The sheep will be safe enough," said Samuel. "The dogs will keep them
together. There are no wolves tonight. Come, Dahvid."
But the boy was firm. "There is my master; he'll be angry if I leave
his flocks alone."
"Old Abraham will never know," said Joel.
"Abraham is a hard master," said Dahvid. "Many a time I have felt his
heavy staff on my back. But it is not that which keeps me. I have
given him my word that, come day, come night, come life, come death, I
will not fail to keep the flocks. Go on without me; I must keep my
word. Go on."
So they went on, impatient and eager for this wondrous quest, Ezra
and Joel muttering now and then at the obstinacy of the boy, but
Samuel full of glowing admiration. Dahvid watched them as they moved
up the hill. That dream of finding the Christ-child--how could he give
it up? Once he started forward: "I will go!" But something held him
back, and he threw himself on the ground and kept back tears of bitter
disappointment. After a time he grew calmer, and found a certain
comfort in thinking of the helplessness of his flock.
Suddenly the low growling of his dog brought him to his feet. But he
saw nothing, heard nothing, and bade the dog be still. In a moment,
with a bark of alarm, the dog was up again and away. Dahvid sprang up,
certain now that danger was near. There was panic in the flock. Toward
the wilderness he could see lean, gray forms, moving stealthily and
swiftly among the sheep. Wolves! Springing upon a rock, and waving his
cloak in circles about his head, he uttered the familiar call which
gathered the sheep about him, his own sheep nearest, and behind them
the flocks of Samuel, Ezra, and Joel. The wolves made off and Dahvid
quickly looked over his flock to see if all were there--for the
Eastern shepherd knows his sheep by name.
One by one he named them, with an increasing feeling of relief. They
were all there. No! One was missing--Ke-barbara, the pet of the flock.
Ke-barbara means striped, and the little sheep was so called because
of the dark marking of her fleece. After waving his staff over the
huddled beasts, and uttering a few times the soothing cry, "Hoo-o-o,
ta-a-a! hoo-o-o, ta-a-a!" he rushed off in the direction which the
wolves had taken. At the top of the steep bank, at the edge of the
pasture, he stopped and called, "Ke-barbara! Ke-barbara!" and for
answer heard an anguished bleat from the rocks below.
It was a steep and slippery way, but Dahvid plunged down with no
thought of anything but the sheep. Loose stones gave way and he lost
his footing. At the bottom he picked himself up unhurt, and there
beside him were two wolves quarreling over the wounded sheep. One of
them slunk away at sight of the boy, but the other had a taste of
blood and sprang at Dahvid, missing his throat but sinking his teeth
into his leg. Then Dahvid, as the beast turned to spring again, struck
him a heavy blow on the head with his staff and killed him. His own
wounds were bleeding and painful, but he turned at once with caressing
words to the sheep.
"Ke-barbara, they have hurt you, little sheep! But they have not
killed you! I reached you just in time. You cannot walk; can you? And
I am afraid I cannot carry you. But I can help. There, put your head
on my arm." He groaned with pain. "No, the other one." So he talked to
her, as to a child, as the wounded boy and the wounded sheep slowly
made their way up the steep hillside and over the rough rocks. It was
not a long way, and, half an hour before, the sturdy shepherd lad
would have bounded over it quickly enough. But now the wounded leg was
slow, the wounded arm was weak, and the wounded lamb seemed very
heavy. It was a weary journey, with many stops. When at last they
reached the flock, still huddled trembling together, Dahvid had only
strength to give one reassuring "Hoo-o-o, ta-a-a," then fell
exhausted.
How long he lay there he did not know, but the dawn was growing
bright when three men appeared from the direction of the town. It was
not the shepherds, but old Abraham and two of his servants. As the old
man caught sight of his flock, but he saw no shepherd, he raged with
anger. "Dahvid!" he shouted fiercely. "Dahvid!" There was no answer.
"The young vagabond! He has left the sheep. Of great worth are his
promises! He would keep my flock. 'Come life--come death!' Dahvid! Let
me once find him and I will give him something he will remember longer
than he does his vows."
As he drew near the flock he discovered the boy lying on the ground.
"Ah, asleep is he? and the sun this high! Come, get up!" he shouted
fiercely, and lifted his staff to strike. But, as he did so he caught
sight of the white face and the bleeding arm, and noticed the wounded
sheep. Old Abraham dropped his angry arm, and there was a touch of
tenderness that was strange to him, as he continued: "Ah, Dahvid, boy!
You did not forget your promises; did you, Dahvid? And I would have
struck you! Forgive me, my lad." Then, turning to his servants, he
gave them command: "Take him to the inn and bid them care for him. I,
myself, will keep the flock today."
The servants bowed low, "The inn is full, my lord."
Old Abraham commanded again positively, "Take him to the inn, I say."
"But the inn is full, my lord," replied the older servant, trembling.
Then the other servant spoke, "There is perhaps room in the stable, my
lord."
"Then bear him thither, and bid them give him the best of care. Go at
once."
So the servants bore Dahvid away, still unconscious from his wounds
and made him comfortable on a bed of straw in the stable of the inn.
It was some hours before he came to himself. When at last he opened
his eyes, and his ears began to catch once more the sounds about him,
the first thing he heard was a faint cry.
"What is that?" he asked eagerly of Samuel, who was watching beside
him.
"That," said the old shepherd, in tones of mingled joy and reverence,
"is the Child the angels told us about, the Child we came to see. We
found him here in the stable, in a manger."
"And I am not to see him?"
"Yes, you are," said Samuel, and a grave-faced man brought the Child
and laid Him in Dahvid's arms, the Child for whose coming the people
had been longing for a thousand years.
* * * * *
The color at length came back to Dahvid's white cheeks and strength
and health to his limbs and he went back again to the plain. Old
Abraham embraced him, "Forgive me, my son. I have been a hard master.
Thou hast been very faithful, and for thy reward I make thee lord over
all my flocks and half of them shall be thine own."
So Dahvid became a man of flocks, and all his days he was known among
the other shepherds as the one who had held the Christ-child in his
arms. And there was none among them who was thought so brave, and
gentle, and wise as the _Shepherd Who Didn't Go_.
[*] Reprinted by permission from "The City that Never Was Reached," by
Jay T. Stocking; published by the Pilgrim Press.
PAULINA'S CHRISTMAS[*]
A Story of Russian Life. Adapted from Anna Robinson's
_Little Paulina_
One day, in Russia, there was a heavy snowstorm. The snow was deep on
the ground; and in the forest the branches of the trees bent under its
weight.
In this forest a little girl was struggling along. There was no path
for her to follow, for the snow covered all the paths. The little
girl's name was Paulina. She was dressed in a long fur coat, and she
wore a cap and mittens and gaiters of fur, so that she looked more
like a little furry animal than a little girl. She kept tramping
along, not a bit afraid, when suddenly she heard a call for help.
"Help! Help!" the call came.
"Coming, coming!" she called back. She went in the direction of the
voice and soon she saw a man making his way toward her. His dress was
that of a peasant.
"Will you please direct me out of this forest, little one?" he asked.
"You probably know the paths about."
"No, I am a stranger here," Paulina answered. "I live in Kief--that
is, I did live there; but I am on my way to my father."
"Where is your father?" asked the man.
"He is in Siberia. They banished him."
"But, little one," said the stranger, "that is a terrible place for a
child to go to. That frozen country, where wicked people are sent!"
"O, yes,--but my father is there, you know," said Paulina.
"Who is your father?" the man asked.
The little girl was about to tell him, when she noticed a look of
interest on the stranger's face, so she said,
"Did you say that you had lost your way in the forest? Do you live far
from here?"
"Yes, very far. I am lost, and am nearly perishing from hunger and
cold. How far is it to the next village?"
"They told me it was some miles on," said the child. "But I will take
you back to the woodsman's cottage where I spent the night. The woman
is a kind-hearted person, and I am sure she will give you shelter."
"That is kind of you, little one," said the stranger, "but you will be
hindering your own journey if you do that."
"I know that my father would want me to show a kindness, even though
it did put me back some," Paulina said.
"You must have a good father, to give you such training. Why did the
Emperor send him into exile?" the stranger asked her.
"O, my father had enemies who lied to the Emperor--and there was no
chance given to my father to explain. So the Emperor sent him away to
Siberia,--and I am trying to find my way there to him."
While they walked through the forest, the stranger told Paulina about
his own little daughter who was expecting him to spend Christmas with
her. At last they reached the woodsman's hut. The woman greeted them
kindly, and while Paulina went into another room to help her prepare
the evening meal, the stranger was left warming himself by the fire,
and rocking the cradle.
Once Paulina thought she heard voices, as if the stranger were talking
to someone; but when she went back, she found him alone, still warming
his hands and rocking the cradle with his foot.
That night the stranger slept on the floor in front of the fire--there
was no other place for him; but he was glad to be safe from the storm
outside.
Early in the morning, the two started out through the forest again.
They must hurry, if they were to reach the next village before
darkness fell. The storm had passed over, and the day was cold and
clear. A beautiful winter's day. The little girl and the stranger
reached the village on the other side of the forest early in the
afternoon, and there before them they saw a beautiful sleigh drawn by
four horses. There were four servants standing near.
"What a lovely sleigh!" exclaimed Paulina.
"Yes, I wonder where they are going. I will ask them," the stranger
said. He went nearer the men and spoke to them.
"We are driving for our master to Igorhof," they said.
"Why, that is where my daughter is. If I might only ride with you, I
could spend Christmas with her. Tomorrow is Christmas day, you know.
And, little one, you could spend Christmas with us, too."
"O, no," said Paulina. "I could not take the time. I must hurry on to
my father. But it would be lovely if we could only ride in this
beautiful sleigh."
"You could spend the night with us, and then we could set you on your
way, because you have been so kind to me," the man told her.
The servants were willing to let them ride in the beautiful sleigh,
and soon they were speeding over the snow toward the great city. Once,
the stranger took a scarf from a pocket on the side of the sleigh and
threw it about his neck. Paulina frowned, and promptly placed it back
in the pocket.
"It isn't right for you to touch anything in the sleigh. It belongs to
someone else. I am beginning to fear that you may not be an honest
man," she said gravely.
The stranger laughed at her, but he did not take the scarf again. They
sped on over the snow until, as darkness fell, they reached the city.
Soon they entered a large courtyard, and the stranger took Paulina's
hand and led her into a narrow passageway, and up a small winding
stairway.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Paulina. "I feel almost sure now,
that you are not an honest man. I think that you may even be a thief!"
The man laughed again.
"No, I am an honest man. You will believe me when you see my little
daughter. I trusted you in the forest. Now you trust me."
He led her into a large room, and they sat down upon a sofa.
"We will wait here until my daughter comes," he said.
Soon the door opened, and a beautiful little girl, about as large as
Paulina, came toward them. She looked puzzled when she saw the
rough-looking man with the little girl. She went close to the stranger
and looked into his face.
"It _is_ my father!" she cried, and threw her arms around his neck.
"But why are you dressed like a peasant? Has there been an accident?
And who is this little stranger?"
The man took her on his lap and told her how his sleigh had been
overturned in the storm, and how he had found his way to a peasant's
hut, where they had given him dry clothes to put on, and how he had
started out alone to find his way through the forest; and how he was
nearly perishing with cold and hunger when this little girl had
rescued him, and how, if it had not been for her, he would have died
in the snow in the forest. He told her how little Paulina was on her
way to Siberia to find her father, and how they went to the woodsman's
hut where a servant had found him, and how he had planned for the
sleigh to meet them on the other side of the forest.
"O," Paulina interrupted him, "then there was somebody talking with
you when we were preparing the evening meal?"
"Yes, and everything came out just as I had planned. And do you know,
little daughter, this Paulina would not let me put my own scarf around
my neck. She thought that I was a thief. She is an honest little girl.
But she will not tell me her name. She does not trust me."
"But why should I trust you, when you will not tell me who you are, or
anything about yourself?" Paulina asked.
"Do trust my father, Paulina. I'm sure he can help you. He will tell
you who he is soon, I know," the beautiful little girl said.
"Yes, little one," the stranger said. "I know someone who could speak
to the Emperor about your father, and perhaps he could be pardoned.
Please tell me your name; and then before you go away I will answer
any questions about myself you may ask me."
"Do tell my father, Paulina," the little girl urged.
Paulina threw her arms about the stranger's knees.
"O, if you could only get the Emperor to pardon him.--But I do not ask
for a _pardon_--he has done nothing to be pardoned for. All that I ask
is that he may have justice done him. My father is Vladimir Betzkoi."
The stranger frowned, and then he whispered,
"There must be some mistake. He must be a good man to have such an
honest little daughter." Then he said to Paulina,
"Do you believe now that I am an honest man, since you have seen my
daughter?"
"O, yes, indeed I do. You couldn't help being good and honest. She is
so beautiful. I think her face is like what a queen's should be,"
Paulina answered eagerly.
The stranger and his little daughter smiled, and the man said,
"Well, I believe that your father is an honest man since I have seen
you. And I can tell you now, I _know_ he will be pardoned."
"Tell her, father, tell the little Paulina who you are," his daughter
whispered.
"Until your father returns to you, little one, you must stay here and
I will be a father to you--as I am father to all the people of Russia,
for _I am the Emperor!_"
Just then the bells began ringing, and voices outside began
singing,--for it was the beginning of Christmas morning. And Paulina
said,
"This is the happiest Christmas morning I have ever known."
[*] By permission--Copyright, 1912, by Sturgis & Walton Company.
UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN
As Told by Phebe A. Curtiss at a "White Gift" Service
It was in the little town of Bethlehem, with its white walls and
narrow streets, that a wonderful thing happened many, many years ago.
The whole aspect of the place had been completely transformed, and
instead of the quiet which usually existed there, confusion reigned.
The little town was crowded full of people. All day long men, women
and children had been pouring in companies into it until every
available place was full. It had something to do with the payment of
taxes, and the people had come from far and near in response to the
call of those in authority.
Many of them were staying with relatives and friends, and every door
had been opened to receive those who came. There were not many places
where the public could go to stay in those days, and the ones that
there were had been already filled.
Just as the shadows were closing down around the hill, an interesting
little group found its way up the winding path through the orchards,
touched as they were by the sunset coloring, and into the gate of the
city. The man, seemingly about fifty years of age, walked with slow
and measured tread. He had a black beard, lightly sprinkled with gray,
and he carried in his hand a staff, which served him in walking and
also in persuading the donkey he was leading to move a little more
rapidly.
It was plain to see that the errand he had come on was an important
one, both from the care with which he was dressed and from the anxious
look which now and then spread over his face.
Upon the donkey's back sat a woman, and your attention would have been
directed to her at once if you could have been there. She was
marvelously beautiful. She was very young--just at that interesting
period between girlhood and womanhood, when the charm is so great.
Her eyes were large and blue and they were a prominent feature in the
face that was absolutely perfect in contour and coloring.
She wore an outer robe of a dull woolen stuff which covered the blue
garment worn underneath--the garment which indicated that she was a
virgin. Over her head and around her neck she wore the customary white
veil or "wimple."
As the donkey jogged along, stopping now and then to nibble at the
bushes on either side, she sat calmly looking out upon the
surroundings. Once in a while she would draw aside her veil and her
beautiful eyes would lift themselves to heaven with a look of rapture
and adoration in them, which was wonderful to see.