Soon the Monks came into the chapel to practise singing some new
Christmas carols. There sat the near-sighted Monk, holding the big doll
in his arms.
“Behold a miracle,” he said, holding up the doll. “Thou wilt remember
that there was one doll planted which did not come up. Behold, in her
place I have found this doll on crutches, which is—alive!”
“It is indeed a miracle,” said the Monk who was a doctor. He took the
child in his arms and looked at the twisted ankle. “I think I can
cure this lameness,” he said.
“Take her, then,” said the abbot, “and we will sing our Christmas
carols joyously in her honor.”
Peter, of course, heard the Monks talking about the miracle, and he
knew what it meant. He was very unhappy to think that he was deceiving
them. At the same time he did not dare to tell them for fear the doctor
would not try to cure his sister.
He worked hard picking the Christmas presents, and getting them ready
for Santa Claus.
On Christmas Eve he was called into the chapel. The walls were covered
with evergreen, and Christmas candles shone everywhere. There were
Christmas wreaths in all the windows, and the Monks were singing a
Christmas carol.
On a chair covered with green branches sat Peter’s little sister,
dressed in white, with a wreath of holly berries on her head.
When the carol was ended, the Monks formed in a line with the abbot at
the head. Each one had his hands full of the most beautiful Christmas
presents. The abbot held a wax doll, the biggest and prettiest that
grew in the garden.
When he held it out to the little girl, she drew back, and said in her
sweet little voice, “Please, I’m not a miracle; I’m only Peter’s little
sister.”
“Peter?” said the abbot; “the Peter who works in our garden?”
“Yes,” said the little sister.
The Monks looked at each other in dismay. This was not a miracle, it
was only Peter’s little sister!
But the abbot of the Christmas Monks spoke to them. “This little girl
did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a miracle.
But she is sweet and beautiful, and we all love her.”
“Yes,” said the Christmas Monks, and they laid their presents down
before her.
Peter was so happy he danced for joy. And when he found his little
sister was cured of her lameness, he did not know what to do.
In the afternoon he took his sister and went home to see his father
and mother. Santa Claus filled his sleigh with gifts and drove his
reindeer down to the cottage.
Oh! it was such a happy day. There was so much to tell that they all
talked at once. There was so much to see that their eyes ached with
looking.
But in the palace of the King it was very different. The Prince was
cross and unhappy. His old toys were broken. He was tired of his old
games. There was no one for him to play with, and he didn’t have one
single Christmas gift.
—_Mary E. Wilkins (abridged and adapted)._