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Christmas Light
[Illustration]
Christmas Light
BY
ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS
_With Illustrations_
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1922
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
TO
MY MOTHER
Light of the world, the world is dark about Thee;
Far out on Judah's hills the night is deep.
Not yet the day is come when men shall doubt Thee,
Not yet the hour when Thou must wake and weep;
O little one, O Lord of Glory, sleep!
Love of all heaven, love's arms are folded round Thee,
Love's heart shall be the pillow for Thy cheek.
Not yet the hour has come when hate shall wound Thee,
Not yet for shelter vainly must Thou seek.
Rest, little one, so mighty and so weak.
Lie still and rest, Thou Rest of earth and heaven;
Rest, little hands--our Hope of bliss ye keep;
Rest, little heart--one day shalt Thou be riven;
O newborn Life, O Life eternal, sleep!
Far out on Judah's hills the night is deep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Contents
I. Naomi's Garden 1
II. One Sabbath 20
III. The Trip to Jerusalem 37
IV. In the Dark 60
V. All the World Comes Visiting 73
VI. The Shepherds 88
VII. In a Manger 101
VIII. The Light of the World 116
[Illustration]
Christmas Light
CHAPTER I
NAOMI'S GARDEN
It was in a little garden in the village of Bethlehem, many and many a
year ago, that four scarlet poppies stood side by side and swayed gently
back and forth upon their slim green stalks in the soft afternoon wind.
A little girl came running over the grass and halted before the
poppies.
"How beautiful you are!" said the little girl, whose name was Naomi, and
who was eight years old.
She clasped her hands before her in delight, and stood smiling down upon
the flowers that seemed to nod courteously in reply.
This little Jewish girl had dark curling hair and gentle brown eyes. Her
cheeks were as rosy as the poppies, and she wore a gay little robe of
scarlet and yellow striped stuff, while upon her bare brown feet were
tied soft leather sandals.
"How beautiful you are!" said Naomi again to the poppies. "You are mine,
for I made you grow, and you are the most beautiful flowers in all our
lovely garden."
And she looked as proudly round the tiny garden plot as if it were as
spacious and as wonderful as the famous gardens of the wicked King
Herod, or even those of the Temple High Priest himself.
In the center of the grass plot stood an orange-tree, and under it, in
the shade of its glossy leaves, had been placed a light wooden bench. A
tall hedge of prickly thorns prevented passers-by on the narrow village
street from peeping in. At one end a heavy grapevine clambered over a
trellis, while at the other there were several rich clumps of myrtle
that showed dark against the surrounding grass. Below the thorn hedge
stood a row of bold flaunting tulips, and there were two flower-beds,
one of white, the other of tall red lilies.
The garden was indeed a pleasant place, and Naomi's happiest hours were
spent here, whether playing peacefully alone, or amusing baby Jonas, or
when the family gathered together under the orange-tree, Father and
Mother, brother Ezra, baby Jonas, and herself.
To be sure there were vines and flowers growing on the roof of Naomi's
house, which was often used as a place to sit in the cool of the day and
even to sleep when the house grew unbearably warm. For Naomi's dwelling
looked like nothing so much as a square box turned upside down with only
a door cut in the front and not a window to break the smooth white
sides.
Within, there was a single room, round which ran a bench where were kept
the gay quilts, tightly rolled, which made the only beds Naomi knew.
Here, too, lay the cushions upon which the family sat when at meals
round the table, which was then pulled out from the wall. There was a
great carved chest in which were kept the Sabbath clothes, the crescent
of coins which belonged to Naomi's mother and which she wore upon her
head as an ornament on festive occasions, and the long parchment rolls
of Scripture in which Naomi's father took the keenest pride. At the
door stood a tall water-jar with herbs floating on the top to keep the
water cool.
In a niche in the doorpost hung a small roll of parchment in a case.
Naomi was used to seeing her father and his friends touch it reverently
when passing in or out, and then kiss the fingers that had touched the
Name of the Most High. She could even recite as well as Ezra the verses
she knew were written there, beginning, "Hear, O Israel: Jehovah our God
is one Jehovah," and ending "and thou shalt write them upon the
doorposts of thy house and upon thy gates."
In a small building near by stood the oven where Naomi's mother did her
baking and which she used in common with several other families. It was
often a meeting-place for the children, who hung about the door on
baking-days hoping for hot crumbs--stout Solomon from across the road;
Rachel and Rebekah, Naomi's particular friends; little Enoch, who walked
with a limp and who would never grow any taller, though he might live to
be ever so old.
"I would that my Aunt Miriam used our oven," Naomi often thought, "for
she bakes every day, and, oh, such good things as she makes."
Naomi's aunt kept the village inn or khan that stood just outside the
city gates on one of the little hills upon which Bethlehem was built.
Many travelers stopped the night at the khan and even longer, for the
village lay only one mile to the right of the great road which led from
Jerusalem, six miles away, to the old town of Hebron, and then down into
the far-away, mysterious land of Egypt itself. Where the road from
Bethlehem joined the Jerusalem highway stood the tomb of Rachel, and
many a time had Naomi, loitering in the courtyard of the inn, heard
pious pilgrims, fresh from the spot, tell the stories of Rachel and
Jacob, and their sons Joseph and Benjamin.
Naomi's little head was packed full of the stories of the great people
of her race. Ezra, eleven years old, went to school in the synagogue
every day with the other boys of the village, and diligently studied the
Law and the Prophets. At home, Naomi was taught by her mother, not only
the care of the house, but the history of the Hebrew people, their
songs, their prayers, and their hopes.
"I know ten hymns without a mistake," Naomi would boast, and by hymns
she meant what we call psalms. "I can recite the Song of Deborah and the
Song of Hannah. I can tell all the story about them, too, and, oh, ever
so many more."
Her favorite story was that of the Naomi for whom she had been named.
But this summer afternoon she was thinking of nothing save of the pretty
blossoms that now swung before her after so many days of patient toil
and care.
She caught sight of her mother in the doorway and eagerly called her to
come and see the sight.
"Come, Mother, come," she called. "My poppies are all out, every one.
Four of them in a row! See--even the smallest one that I feared would
not bloom at all. There is one for each of thee: Father, Mother, Ezra,
Jonas. The smallest one is for Jonas, and verily it is the prettiest one
of all."
Naomi's mother came smiling down the path. She carried a water-pitcher
or urn, and astride her left shoulder sat baby Jonas, steadying himself
by clutching his mother's thick dark hair.
"The flowers are beautiful, Naomi," said she pleasantly. "They well
repay thee for all thy patience and care. I go now to the fountain for
water. It lacks but half an hour to sundown. Watch thy little brother
Jonas well and keep him happy until I return."
And slipping Jonas from her shoulder to the grass, and pulling her white
linen veil into place, she stepped quickly out into the village street,
her urn securely balanced upon her head.
Jonas had already crept over to the bench, and, dragging himself up upon
his unsteady legs, he looked into his sister's face with a smile.
"The smallest poppy is thine, Jonas," Naomi told him, "but thou must
touch it not. Come now with me and see the pigeons."
Behind the house, a step out of the garden, stood a dove-cote made of
mud. Inside were two wide-mouthed earthen jars that served as
nesting-boxes. The pigeons were stepping majestically about on the
ground, the sun touching their soft gray feathers with blue and green
and rose. Jonas made several lunges at them in the hope of capturing a
new plaything, but he succeeded only in stubbing his toe and sitting
down hard upon the ground.
"No, neither must thou touch them," said Naomi, helping him tenderly to
his feet and brushing off the dirt. "It seems to me that there are a
great many things that thou must not touch. But I know something that
thou canst do. It is my secret, but I do not mind telling thee because
thou canst not talk. Thou mayst help me dig a well!"
Naomi's voice sank mysteriously as she guided the tottering Jonas back
into the garden and over to a bare spot of ground behind the largest of
the myrtle bushes.
"Sit ye down, Jonas," said Naomi, sinking cross-legged to the ground.
"I mean to dig the well here, it will be so handy for Mother. Then never
will she have to walk down to the fountain unless she likes. You take
that stick and I will use this one."
For a few moments the little girl worked industriously, loosening the
dry sun-baked soil, while Jonas scratched vigorously with his
sharp-pointed stick.
"It is hard work, Jonas," sighed Naomi, pausing to shake back her curls.
"But it will be worth it when once the well is made. It will be called
'Naomi's well' for me, and years and years from now my
great-great-grandchildren will be proud of me because I made it. And
when I am an old woman, all thin and brown and dried-up like lame
Enoch's grandmother, I will say to my grandchildren, all standing round
and listening to every word I say--I will say, 'Grandchildren, I well
remember the day thy dear uncle--that is thou, Jonas--and I dug
this'--Oh! Oh!" And Naomi screamed aloud and jumped to her feet.
Something cold and wet had been placed against the back of her neck, and
little shivers were running over her as she turned and saw her brother
Ezra behind her, smiling at her fright. In his arms he held a small
white lamb, and it was this little animal's nose that had been pressed
to Naomi's neck, and that had brought her day-dreaming to such an abrupt
close.
"Wilt thou not tell the grandchildren anything about their dear Uncle
Ezra?" inquired Ezra with a comical look. "Who sharpened those sticks
for thee, I would fain know, and thou didst not even tell me what use
they were for. How dost thou think the grandchildren would like to hear
that?"
"How unkind thou art to listen and then laugh at me," said Naomi,
putting out her under lip. "I would have told thee, Ezra, about the well
only it was a secret. Do not tell Mother, wilt thou? I would fain
surprise her. Promise thou wilt not tell, Ezra! Promise!" And Naomi laid
an imploring hand upon her brother's arm.
Ezra's only answer was to laugh and shake his head. Though he had no
intention of telling, he wanted to tease Naomi a little before making
any promises. He was fond of his little sister, and was far more gentle
and kindly than many another brother would have been in those days in
old Palestine.
For in the Jewish family, girls were not valued so highly as boys, and
were made to feel their unimportance in many ways that would be highly
displeasing to little sisters of to-day. Girls were taught to wait upon
their brothers and to treat them with respect. It was impressed upon
them that the duty of a girl was to be useful and modest and quiet, and
that her chief pleasure should lie in making home happy and comfortable
for her father and brothers.
But in the household of Samuel the weaver, Naomi's lot had not been
quite that of the ordinary Jewish girl. Her father was proud of his
bright, lovable little daughter and had made her his special pet. Her
mother, who had been well taught by her own mother, a "wise woman" of
her day, was careful that Naomi seldom missed the daily lesson that kept
the little girl, to her great delight, only a short way behind Ezra on
the hard road of knowledge.
So Ezra, though he felt his superiority as a boy and the first-born of
his family, could not long resist Naomi's pleading glance nor the
pressure of her little brown hand.
"What wilt thou give me if I do not tell?" asked Ezra, not wishing to
seem to relent too quickly.
"The first bright shekel I find in the highway," answered Naomi saucily.
She was smiling now, and her hand was gently stroking the little lamb's
nose.
"What lamb is this, Ezra?" she asked. "And why hast thou brought it
home? It seems sleepy, poor little creature. Look, its eyes are half
shut."
"It is one of the Temple flock," answered Ezra, looking down at the
quiet little animal in his arms. "But it has a blemish. It runs on three
legs, and it does not see very well. They will not keep it in the
flock--it is not fit for Temple use--and shepherd Eli gave it to me this
afternoon for my own. I helped him find an old ewe that had caught her
foot between two stones, and when I was leaving he gave me the lamb."
By the "Temple flock" Ezra meant the sheep that were destined to be used
as sacrifices in the great Temple at Jerusalem, and which were encamped
all the year round on the hills outside the city. The shepherds of the
flock were friendly to the boy, who declared he meant when a man to be a
Temple shepherd himself. Ezra spent most of his spare time with them,
helping them in their work and listening with delight to their thrilling
stories of encounters with wolves and jackals. Many of the shepherds
were friends of his father, for both were connected with the Temple,
since Samuel the weaver spent his days, in common with a number of
others in Bethlehem, in making the gorgeous curtains and veils that were
used in the sacred building.
"Stand up, Three Legs," said Ezra, putting his lamb on the ground and
showing Naomi its pitifully shrunken limb. In naming it "Three Legs"
Ezra was following the custom of the shepherds who called their charges
by any peculiarity they might possess, such as "Black Ear" or "Long
Tail." "I mean to make a little wagon and teach Three Legs to draw it.
And if he is not able to do that, I shall sell him for whatever I can
get."
"Oh, no, Ezra," said Naomi whose tender heart was touched by the forlorn
little animal. "He is sick, he is not able to draw a wagon. Give him to
me and let me take care of him."
Ezra shook his head.
"I will sell him first," said he with determination. "I will not give
him away."
"Sell him to me!" cried Naomi; "sell him to me!"
The lamb had toppled over in a little heap and was looking patiently and
with half-closed eyes into Naomi's face bent above him. It seemed to
the little girl that she would gladly give her dearest possession if she
might have the lamb for her own to nurse and care for.
"Sell him to me, Ezra. I will give thee anything thou mayst ask."
"What hast thou to give?" asked Ezra shrewdly. He felt sure the lamb
could never draw a wagon, and the prospect of selling a sick animal was
small.
"Anything thou mayst ask," was Naomi's reckless answer. The lamb had put
out a limp pink tongue and was licking her fingers.
"Thy poppies?"
Ezra had heard his aunt say that very day, "I need poppies sorely for my
brew for the palsy, and not a single one has bloomed in the khan garden
this year."
Surely four poppies would be worth a rich cake or two, or perhaps even
a piece of money.
"My poppies?" Naomi looked aghast. "My poppies? All four? Why, there is
just one apiece! Father and Mother, thou and Jonas! My poppies?"
The lamb stirred and with a little sigh of content snuggled his nose
into the palm of Naomi's hand.
"Take them!" Naomi stood up and gathered the lamb in her arms. "Take
them, only let me not see thee."
She turned her back upon Ezra and shut her eyes.
Quickly he gathered the flowers and ran out of the garden.
Naomi opened her eyes. She gave one look at her despoiled flower-bed and
bent again over the lamb.
"I am glad, Three Legs," said she warmly. "Thou art much better than
many poppies, thou poor little creature, and I am glad I did it. I am
glad!"