“Are you not afraid, Father, that this custom of New Year’s gifts is
baneful to the soul?”
“No, I am not afraid.”
“The custom comes to us from the Pagans.”
“The Pagans sometimes followed good customs. God was pleased to suffer
some faint rays of his light to pierce the darkness of the Gentiles.
Sir, if you refuse to give _us_ presents, never refuse a boon to our
poor little ones. We have a home for foundlings. With this poor crown I
shall buy each child a little paper windmill and a cake. They will owe
you the only pleasure perhaps of all their life; for they are not fated
to have much joy in the world. Their laughter will go up to heaven; when
children laugh, they praise the Lord.”
M. Chanterelle laid his well-filled purse in the poor friar’s palm and
got him down from his post, saying over softly to himself the word he
had just heard:
“When children laugh, they praise the Lord.”
Then his soul was comforted and he marched off with a firmer step to
carry the Princess of Savoy to Mademoiselle de Doucine, his niece.