I.

A cabin. A cabin in the woods. Of it I have written before, and of it

I write again. The same great fireplace piled high with logs fiercely

ablaze. Again on either side of the fireplace are the hounds gazing

meditatively into the fire. The same big table, and on it the same

great book, leather-bound and worn by the hands of many generations.

And at the strong table, bending over the sacred book, with one huge

finger marking a sentence, the same whitened head, the same man, large

of limb and large of feature--John Norton, the Trapper.

"Yis, pups," said the Trapper, speaking to his dogs as one speaks to

companions in council, "yis, pups, it must go in, for here it be writ

in the Book--Rover, ye needn't have that detarmined look in yer

eye--for here it be writ in the Book, I say, '_Do unto others as ye

would that others should do unto you._'

"I know, old dog, that ye have seed me line the sights on the

vagabonds, when ye and me have ketched 'em pilferin' the traps or

tamperin' with the line, and I have trusted yer nose as often as my

own eyes in trackin' the knaves when they'd got the start of us. And I

will admit it, Rover, that the Lord gave ye a great gift in yer nose,

so that ye be able to desarn the difference atween the scent of an

honest trapper's moccasin and that of a vagabond. But that isn't to

the p'int, Rover. The p'int is, Christmas be comin' and ye and me and

Sport, yender, have sot it down that we're to have a dinner, and the

question in council to-night is, Who shall we invite to our dinner?

Here we have been arguin' the matter three nights atween us, pups, and

we didn't git a foot ahead, and the reason that we didn't git a foot

ahead was, because ye and me, Rover, naterally felt alike, for we have

never consorted with vagabonds, and we couldn't bear the idee of

invitin' 'em to this cabin and eatin' with 'em. So, ye and me agreed

to-night we'd go to the Book and go by the Book, hit or miss. And the

reason we should go to the Book and by the Book is, because, ef it

wasn't for the Book, there wouldn't be any Christmas nor any Christmas

dinner to invite anyone to, and so we went to the Book, and the Book

says--I will read ye the words, Rover. And, Sport, though ye be a

younger dog, and naterally of less jedgment, yit ye have yer gifts,

and I have seed ye straighten out a trail that Rover and me couldn't

ontangle. So do ye listen, both of ye, like honest dogs, while I read

the words:--

"'_Give to him that lacketh and from him that hath not withhold not

thine hand._'

"There it be, Rover,--we are to give to the man that lacks, vagabond

or no vagabond. Ef he lacks vict'als, we are to give him vict'als; ef

he lacks garments, we are to give him garments; ef he lacks a

Christmas dinner, Rover, we are to give him a Christmas dinner. But

how are we to give him a Christmas dinner onless we give him an invite

to it? For ye know yerself, Rover, that no vagabond would ever come to

a cabin where ye and me be onless we axed him to.

"But there's another sentence here somewhere in the Book that bears on

the p'int we be considerin'. '_When thou makest a dinner_'--that be

exactly our case, Rover,--'_or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy

brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors; lest they also

bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest a

feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: and thou shalt

be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be

recompensed at the resurrection of the just._'

"Furdermore, Rover, there's another passage that the lad, when he was

on the 'arth, used to say each night afore he went to sleep, whether

in the cabin or on the boughs. Sport, ye must remember it, for ye was

his own dog. I am not sartin where it be writ in the Book, but that

doesn't matter, for we all know the words,--it be from the great

prayer,--'_Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass

against us_,' and the great prayer, as I conceit, is the only blazin'

a man can trail by ef he hopes to fetch through to the Great Clearin'

in peace.

"Now these vagabonds, Rover,--I needn't name 'em to ye,--have

trespassed agin us; ye and me know it, for we've ketched 'em in their

devilment, and, what is more to the p'int, the Lord knows it, too, for

He's had His eye on 'em, and there's one up in the north country that

wouldn't git an invite to this dinner, Bible or no Bible. But, barrin'

this knave, who is beyend the range of our trails, there is not a

single vagabond that has trespassed agin us that we mustn't forgive.

For this be Christmas time, pups, and Christmas be a time for

forgivin' and forgittin' all the evil that's been done agin us."

And here the old man paused and looked at the dogs and then gazed long

and earnestly into the fire. To his face as he gazed came the look of

satisfaction and a most placid peace. It was evident that if there had

been a struggle between his natural feelings and his determination to

celebrate the great Christmas festival in the true Christmas spirit

the latter had won, and that the Christmas mood had at last entered

into and possessed his soul. And after an interval he rose and

carefully closing the great volume said:--

"And now, pups, as we've settled it atween us, and we all stand agreed

in the matter, I'll git the bark and the coal, and we'll see how the

decision of the council looks when it be put in writin'."

And in a moment the Trapper was again seated at the table with a large

piece of birch bark in front of him and a hound on either side.

"I conceit, pups, that the letterin'," said the old man as he

proceeded to sharpen the piece of charcoal he held in his hands,

"should be of goodly size, for it may help some in readin', and I

sartinly know it will help me in writin'."

With this honest confession of his lack of practice in penmanship, he

proceeded to write:--

"_Any man or animil that be in want of vict'als or garments is

invited to come on Christmas day--which be next week Thursday--without

furder axin', to John Norton's cabin, on Long Lake, to eat Christmas

dinner. Vagabonds included in this invite._"

[Illustration: "Vagabonds included in this invite."]

"I can't say," said the Trapper, as he backed off a few paces and

looked at the writing critically, "I can't say that the wordin' be

exactly as the missioners would put it, and as for the spellin', I

haven't any more confidence in it than a rifle that loads at the

breech pin. The letterin' sartinly stands out well, for the coal is a

good un, and I put as much weight on it as I thought it would bear,

but there is sartinly a good deal of difference atween the ups and

downs of the markin's, and the lines slope off to'ard the northwest as

ef they had started out to blaze a trail through to St. Regis. That

third line looks as ef it would finally come together ef ye'd gin it

time enough to git round the circle, but the bark had a curve in it

there, and the coal followed the grain of the bark, and I am not to

blame for that. Rover, I more than half conceit by the look in yer eye

that ye see the difference in the size of them letters yerself. But ef

ye do ye be a wise dog to keep yer face steddy, for ef ye showed yer

feelin's, old as ye be, I'd edicate ye with the help of a moccasin."

And he looked at the old dog, whose face, as if he realized the peril

of his position, bore an expression of supernatural gravity, with

interrogative earnestness. "Never mind the shape and size of the

letters or the curve of the lines," he added; "the charcoal markin'

stands out strong, and any hungry man with a leaky cabin for his home

can sartinly study out the words, and that's the chief p'int, as I

understand it."

With this comforting reflection the Trapper made his preparations to

retire for the night. He placed the skins for the dogs in the

accustomed spot, lifted another huge log into the monstrous fireplace,

swept the great hearthstone, bolted the heavy door, and then stretched

himself upon his bed. But before he slept he gazed long and earnestly

at the writing on the bark, and murmured: "'Vagabonds included in this

invite.' Yis, the Book be right, Christmas be a day for forgivin' and

forgittin'. And even a vagabond, ef he needs vict'als or garments or a

right sperit, shall be welcome to my cabin." And then he slept.

In the vast and cheerless woods that night were some who were hungry

and cold and wicked. What were Christmas and its cheer to them? What

were gifts and giving, or who would spread for them a full table at

which as guests of honor they might eat and be merry? And above the

woods was a star leading men toward a manger, and a multitude of

angels and an Eye that seeth forever the hungry and the cold and the

wicked. On his bed slept the Trapper, with the look of the Christ on

his face, and as he slept he murmured:--

"Yis, the Book be right: '_Let him who hath, give to them that hath

not._'" And above the woods, above the wicked and the cold, above the

sleeping Trapper, and above the blessed words on the bark on his wall,

above the spot where the Christ had thus received a forest

incarnation, a great multitude of the heavenly host broke forth and

sang:--

"_Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward

men._"

[Illustration: "And above the woods was a star."]