Christ-mas Writings



Someone's Missing At The Manger
by Elizabeth Starr Hill


It was two days before Christ-mas, and Marcie was troubled. She sat on the floor in the glowing fan of warmth from the fire, over a dozen books stacked by her, and flipped through one until she came to a manger scene. In the picture, shepherds had come to visit the Baby Jesus. The Kings were off in the distance, but plainly on the way. Even a cow and a donkey stood nearby in the stable.

It was just as she had thought. Marcie shut the book with a snap, and picked up another. The manger scene in this one was a bit different. The Kings were kneeling in front of the Crib. A boy goatherder stood behind them. A couple of cherubs hovered over the shepherds. But, except for some animals, there was no one else.

Marcie looked through every Christ-mas book she owned. She found tall and short shepherds, fat and thin Kings, black sheep and white lambs. She found boys 'with crutches and crooks, and even one dressed like a choirboy.

But, in each story, someone was missing from the manger. There was no little girl. Not one.

Marcie went into the kitchen where her mother was feeding Kevin, her baby brother. "Mom, when the Baby Jesus was born, how come no little girl went to the stable to see him?"

Her mother spooned some mashed potatoes carefully into Kevin's mouth, and smiled up at Marcie. "Are you sure no one did?"

"Have you ever seen a picture of a little girl at the manger?" Marcie demanded.

"Why, I guess not," her mother answered, her hazel eyes thoughtful. "Unless you count angels. Some of them look as though they might be little girls."

Marcie shook her head emphatically. "You can't count angels. They're too--too angelic. I mean plain, ordinary girls like me."

"I never thought of it before," her mother admitted, "but you are right. It is odd."

Marcie's older brother, Tod, came bursting in, bringing a rush of cold air with him. "I'm starving." he announced, seizing an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table and crunching into it.

"I'll start lunch. Marcie, will you finish feeding Kevin? And this afternoon," her mother said, you and I must finish up the pageant costumes."

Marcie beamed, thrilled by the reminder of how soon the pageant was. She had been looking forward to it for days and days--in fact, for a year, because she had been sick with a bad cold last Christ-mas, so she and her mother had stayed home from church.

The pageant was going to be tomorrow, Christ-mas Eve. This year, Marcie's mother had been chosen to play the Mother of Jesus. Her father was one of the Kings, and Tod was a shepherd boy. Marcie's name would be on the program, too, for helping with the costumes.

She could hardly wait to see how everybody looked. Probably the most beautiful costume of all was the Herald Angel's. It was white and so heavenly. Marcie had helped make it.

She wondered if she would ever get to be the Herald Angel. This year the part had gone to Dorothy Cooper. Dorothy was a senior. She had an irritating manner and crooked teeth, but she could play the trumpet, so she was ideal for the part. Her trumpet could lead the carol singing.

Marcie sighed. About the only thing I'd be ideal for, she thought, is a plain, ordinary little girl. But, of course, there was no role like that.

As though reading her mind, her mother said, "Tod, Marcie and I were wondering why no little girls are ever shown at the manger, in Christ-mas scenes. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Because it's a man's world, what's why," Tod said cheerfully. He tramped away, whistling.

Furious, Marcie wanted to yell after him, "It is not! It's a girl's world."

But underneath, she had her doubts. Sometimes it seemed to her that boys had the best of everything and not just at Christ-mas, either. Tod could run faster that she could, skate better, climb trees higher. He was allowed to stay out after dark and to play rough games. When he tore his clothes or got them dirty, people said approvingly that he was a "real boy," but when she acted wild, she was scolded for being "unladylike."

Kevin couldn't do much, of course, but he certainly got away with a lot. No one minded that he had terrible table manners. Even now, he was dribbling his mashed potatoes. And everybody waited on him. And people thought he was so cute and adorable, they said, for no better reason than that he had red hair, only two teeth, and dimples.

In her heart, Marcie feared that she herself was reflected in the pane of the kitchen window: just a usual kind of little girl, with long brown pigtails and a freckled nose. She was in-between, nobody special.

She pushed the last of the potatoes into Kevin's reluctant mouth, washed his plate and spoon, and went back to sit by the fire. She curled up on the rug, one arm under her head, and gazed into the warm orange and yellow flames.

She imagined it was nearly two thousand years ago, and that she lived in a little town called Bethlehem, near Judea. She was the daughter of a shepherd, and one night she went out with her father to help tend the sheep.

As they watched in the dark fields, a mysterious light appeared in the sky, and grew brighter, and brighter still. Then they saw it was an angel; a real, actual angel, coming to speak to them. They were terrified. They thought it might be the end of the world. But the angel said, "Don't be afraid. I've come to tell you a Savior has been born. He is Christ the Lord. You'll find Him wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

Then the angel pointed the way to where the Christ Child was, and a brilliant Star shone in the East to guide anyone who wanted to visit him. Marcie cried out to her shepherd father, "Oh, please, I want to see the Baby! Look, everybody's going!"

It was true; following the glorious light, the other shepherds took up their crooks and walked toward the Star, their faces full of wonder.

'Well, I don't know," her father said doubtfully. "It is His birthday and I'd like to take a present to the Child. Suppose I could take a baby lamb for Him to play with. But you, Marcie, what could you take?"

"I could make cookies," Marcie suggested. "They're always good to have, when you've got company coming. Don't forget, He may have to entertain Kings.

So she and her father hurried home. Marcie baked cookies and wrapped them in gold paper. Then they set out to join the other shepherds, and follow the star.

As they walked across the silvery, light-struck fields, a sense of miracle was upon them all. The sound of the wind was like a rush of angels, the very trees seemed to whisper with the voices and the promises of angels.

Soon the Star led them to a stable. Marcie was about to step inside when--

"Marcie! Set the table!" her mother called. She could see herself right now the kitchen.

She jumped at the sound of her name and the day dream faded away.

Late that afternoon, the whole family went to the last pageant rehearsal. Marcie carried Kevin, and promised to mind him and to take him home if he fussed. She waited with the baby in the church while the rest of the family went off to change into their costumes.

She looked around the church, her brown eyes wide. The altar was covered with red and green poinsettias. Pine branches with red ribbons decorated the choir stalls, and everything smelled like pine, like candles--like Christ-mas. For some reason she could not understand, Marcie's throat closed up, and she felt like crying.

"Nnh-nnh," Kevin complained, squirming in her lap. She just hummed Jingle Bells to soothe him and he quieted down a little.

Across the aisle, not far from where Marcie was sitting, a crèche had been set up. Marcie looked at the small wooden figures with a familiar annoyance. No little girl anywhere.

There was plenty of room for one more. And cookies might have come in very handy.

Kevin began to whimper again. Marcie wished everybody would hurry up and get their costumes on. The baby was getting fussier by the moment. "Hey, cheer up," she urged him. But he whimpered all the more and finally he began to cry.

She realized she would have to take him home. Once he got in a bad mood, he didn't come out of it too easily. She told herself: Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Anyway, it might be better to see the pageant all at once, when it was perfect. The baby was staying with a neighbor tomorrow.

She skipped home, jogging Kevin and singing lustily, Dashing through the snow...in a one- horse open sleigh... Overhead, the first stars of evening blazed down.

Next morning, Marcie woke up early, bursting with anticipation. It was Christ-mas Eve. She ran to the window. The day was brilliantly clear, and all the town seemed decorated for Christ-mas: the giant fir tree out front glittered with its burden of snow; glowing icicles hung from every roof and sill of every house; whitened streets reflected the sun with a magical brightness.

The hours of the day seemed to fly by. There were last-minute presents to wrap, popcorn balls to make, celery and onions to be chopped for stuffing the turkey.

In the afternoon, Marcie and her mother wrapped one of Marcie's favorite dolls in swaddling clothes. The doll was to be the Baby Jesus in the pageant. Marcie felt very proud that her beloved doll was to be used. She washed the doll's face carefully after it was dressed, to be sure it looked its best.

Everyone's eyes were bright with excitement, but Marcie's more than all. She raced upstairs and changed into her red velvet dress, and tied red ribbons on her pigtails. Then she went to Kevin's crib to dress him in his snowsuit, but suddenly noticed he looked strange. He had some bumpy spots on his face, and he was unusually hot to the touch.

Alarmed, Marcie called her parents. Her mother took one look at the baby, and groaned, "Chicken pox!"

"I'm afraid so," Marcie's father agreed after a moment. Marcie remembered 'when she and Tod had chicken pox. Yes, they had looked just the way Kevin did now.

After taking Kevin's temperature, her mother phoned Mrs. Carter, the neighbor who had planned to take care of Kevin. She explained about the chicken pox, and asked if Mrs. Carter's three small children had had it. The answer was no; Mrs. Carter was awfully sorry, but of course she couldn't under the circumstances, take Kevin.

Her mother called two more neighbors to baby-sit, but without success.

"We've got to get somebody," Tod said. "We're late already. And what are they going to do if we don't show up? What good is a Christ-mas pageant without the Baby Jesus? And His Mother? And one King and one shepherd?"

Marcie swallowed hard. It was true that the whole pageant would be ruined without her mother and father and brother. But, she thought, there was one person who would not be missed--who, in fact, was always missing--a plain, ordinary little girl with no place at the manger.

Still, it was hard to say the words. Marcie's voice sounded husky as she volunteered, "I'll stay with Kevin."

Her mother protested, "No. I know how much you've been looking forward to the pageant. There must be something else we can do.

But they all knew that time had run out. After giving Marcie a comforting hug, her father phoned the doctor and asked if it would be all right to leave Kevin with Marcie for an hour or so. The doctor said yes; if Marcie had any trouble, she could call him up, but the best thing for the baby was sleep.

Marcie held back tears until after her family had hurried off to the pageant. But then she flung herself across her bed and sobbed. She had imagined just how it would be; her mother, so beautiful in a blue robe; her father, every inch a King in scarlet and gold; and Tod, the handsomest of the shepherds. She pictured the angels, her doll as Baby Jesus...

And she wouldn't see any of it. She was going to miss it all...

There was to be a short procession first, around the outside of the church, 'with everyone singing and Dorothy playing. Marcie Heard the music start. She ran to a window. She could not see the church, but she could hear the singing better with the window open: Silent Night, holy night...

Even from this distance, Dorothy's trumpet sounded strong and fine. So did the voices: All is calm, all is bright...Through the ache of her disappointment, the words touched Marcie's heart. It 'was a calm and bright night. She loved carols and she hummed along, as verse after beloved verse followed.

Then the trumpet took on a summoning note. The tune changed to Marcie's favorite: Oh, come, all ye faithful...

"I wanted to," Marcie whispered to herself and to the Baby Jesus. "I couldn't, that's all."

Something seemed to answer: a memory, right at the edge of her mind. At first she couldn't quite catch hold of it. Then she remembered: it was what the leader of their church had said to their mother last year when they had to stay home.

All at once she heard his words, as clearly as though he were speaking now, to her: "'When you want to see the Christ Child and duty keeps you at home, wait in peace and faith for He will surely come to you.

Sing, choirs of angels...sing in exultation... the voices chorused. Church bells began to peal. The procession was nearly over.

Marcie shut the window. She could still hear the singing, and the triumphant notes of the trumpet. And, for today and for always, the words.

For suddenly she knew, in a crystal moment of understanding, why there were never any little girls at the manger. Girls were needed at home. They could not be spared.

Kevin cried faintly. Marcie hurried to his crib. And in the frosty Christ-mas air, the bells rang joy to all the little girls in the world.

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The Stranger Child - A Legend
by Count Franz Pocci


There once lived a laborer who earned his daily bread by cutting wood. His wife and two children, a boy and girl, helped him with his work. The boy's name was Valentine, and the girl's, Marie. They were obedient and pious and the joy and comfort of their poor parents.

One winter evening, this good family gathered about the table to eat their small loaf of bread, while the father read aloud from the Bible. Just as they sat down there came a knock on the window, and a sweet voice called: --

"O let me in! I am a little child, and I have nothing to eat, and no place to sleep in. I am so cold and hungry! Please, good people, let me in!"

Valentine and Marie sprang from the table and ran to open the door, saying: --

"Come in, poor child, we have but very little ourselves, not much more than thou hast, but what we have we will share with thee."

The stranger Child entered, and going to the fire began to warm his cold hands.

The children gave him a portion of their bread, and said: --

"Thou must be very tired; come, lie down in our bed, and we will sleep on the bench here before the fire."

Then answered the stranger Child: "May God in Heaven reward you for your kindness."

They led the little guest to their small room, laid him in their bed, and covered him closely, thinking to themselves: --

"Oh! how much we have to be thankful for! We have our nice warm room and comfortable bed, while this child has nothing but the sky for a roof, and the earth for a couch."

When the parents went to their bed, Valentine and Marie lay down on the bench before the fire, and said one to the other: --

"The stranger Child is happy now, because he is so warm! Good-night!"

Then they fell asleep.

They had not slept many hours, when little Marie awoke, and touching her brother lightly, whispered: --

"Valentine, Valentine, wake up! wake up! Listen to the beautiful music at the window."

Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. He heard the most wonderful singing and the sweet notes of many harps.

"Blessed Child,
Thee we greet,
With sound of harp
And singing sweet.

"Sleep in peace,
Child so bright,
We have watched thee
All the night.

"Blest the home
That holdeth Thee,
Peace, and love,
Its guardians be."


The children listened to the beautiful singing, and it seemed to fill them with unspeakable happiness. Then creeping to the window they looked out.

They saw a rosy light in the east, and, before the house in the snow, stood a number of little children holding golden harps and lutes in their hands, and dressed in sparkling, silver robes.

Full of wonder at this sight, Valentine and Marie continued to gaze out at the window, when they heard a sound behind them, and turning saw the stranger Child standing near. He was clad in a golden garment, and wore a glistening, golden crown upon his soft hair. Sweetly he spoke to the children: --

"I am the Christ Child, who wanders about the world seeking to bring joy and good things to loving children. Because you have lodged me this night I will leave with you my blessing."

As the Christ Child spoke He stepped from the door, and breaking off a bough from a fir tree that grew near, planted it in the ground, saying: --

"This bough shall grow into a tree, and every year it shall bear Christ-mas fruit for you."

Having said this He vanished from their sight, together with the silver-clad, singing children -- the angels.

And, as Valentine and Marie looked on in wonder, the fir bough grew, and grew, and grew, into a stately Christ-mas Tree laden with golden apples, silver nuts, and lovely toys. And after that, every year at Christ-mas time, the Tree bore the same wonderful fruit.

And you, dear boys and girls, when you gather around your richly decorated trees, think of the two poor children who shared their bread with a stranger Child, and be thankful.

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A String of Blue Beads
by Fulton Oursler


Peter Richards was the loneliest man in town on the day Jean Grace opened his door. You may have seen something in the newspapers about the incident at the time it happened, although neither his name nor hers was publicized, nor was the full story told as I tell it here.

Pete's shop had come down to him from his grandfather. The little Christ-mas front window was strewn with a disarray of old-fashioned things; bracelets and lockets worn in days before the Civil War; gold rings and silver boxes; images of jade and ivory, porcelain figurines.

On this winter's afternoon a child was standing there, her forehead against the glass, earnest and enormous eyes studying each discarded treasure, as if she were looking for something quite special. Finally, she straightened up with a satisfied air and entered the store.

The shadowy interior of Pete Richards' establishment was even more cluttered than his show window. Shelves were stacked with jewel caskets, dueling pistols, clocks, lamps, and the floor was heaped with irons and mandolins and things hard to find a name for. Behind the counter stood Pete himself, a man not more than 30 but with hair already turning gray. There was a bleak air about him as he looked at the small customer who flattened her ungloved hands on the counter. "Mister," she began, "would you please let me look at that string of blue beads in the window?" Pete parted the draperies and lifted out a necklace.

The turquoise stones gleamed brightly against the pallor of his palm, as he spread the ornament before her. "They're just perfect," said the child, to herself. "Will you wrap them up pretty for me, please?" Pete studied her with a stony air. "Are you buying these for someone?" "They're for my big sister. She takes care of me. You see, this will be the first Christ-mas since Mother died. I've been searching for the most wonderful Christ-mas present for my sister." "How much money do you have?" asked Pete warily. She had been busily untying the knots in a handkerchief and now she poured out a handful of pennies on the counter. "I emptied my bank," she explained simply. Pete Richards looked at her thoughtfully. Then he carefully drew back the necklace.

The price tag was visible to him but not to her. How could he tell her? The trusting look of her blue eyes smote him like the pain of an old wound. "Just a minute," he said and turned toward the back of tile store. Over his shoulder he called: "What's your name?" He was very busy about something. "Jean Grace." When Pete returned to where Jean Grace waited, a package lay in his hand, wrapped in scarlet paper and tied with a bow of green ribbon. "There you are," he said shortly. "Don't lose it on the way home." She smiled over her shoulder as she ran out the door. Through the window he watched her go, while desolation flooded his thoughts. Something about Jean Grace and her string of beads had stirred him to the depths of a grief that would not stay buried.

The child's hair was wheat yellow, her eyes sea-blue, and once upon a time not long before, Pete had been in love with a girl with hair of that same yellow and with large eyes just as blue. And the turquoise necklace was to have been hers. But there had come a rainy night--a truck skidding on a slippery road--and the life was crushed out of his dream. Since then, Pete Richards had lived too much with his grief in solitude. He was politely attentive to customers, but after business hours his world seemed irrevocably empty. He was trying to forget in a self-pitying haze that deepened day by day.

The blue eyes of Jean Grace jolted him into acute remembrance of what he had lost, The pain of it made him recoil from the exuberance of holiday shoppers. During the next ten days trade was brisk; chattering women swarming in, fingering trinkets, trying to bargain. When the last customer had gone, late on Christ-mas Eve, he sighed with relief. It was over for another year. But for Pete Richards the night was not quite over. The door opened and a young woman hurried in. With an explicable start, he realized that she looked familiar, yet he could not remember when or where he had seen her before. Her hair was golden yellow and her large eyes were blue.

Without speaking, she drew from her purse a package loosely unwrapped in its red paper a bow of green ribbon with it. Presently the string of blue beads lay gleaming again before him. "Did this come from your shop?" she asked. Pete raised his eyes to hers and answered softly: "Yes, it did." "Are the stones real?" "Yes. Not the finest quality--but real." "Can you remember who it was you sold them to?" "She was a small girl. Her name was Jean. She bought them for her older sister's Christ-mas present." "How much are they worth?" "The price," he told her solemnly, "is always a confidential matter between the seller and the customer." "But Jean has never had more than a few pennies of spending money. How could she pay for them?" Pete was folding the gay paper into its creases, rewrapping the little package just as neatly as before. "She paid the biggest price anyone can ever pay," he said. "She gave all she had."

There was a silence then that filled the little curie shop. In some faraway steeple, a bell began to ring.

The sound of the distant chiming, the little package lying on the counter, the question in the eyes of the girl and the strange feeling of renewal struggling unreasonable in the heart of the man, all had come to be because of the life of a child. "But why did you do it?" He held out the gift in his hand. "It's already Christ-mas morning," he said. "And it's my misfortune that I have no one to give anything to. Will you let me see you home and wish you a Merry Christ-mas at your door?" And so, to the sound of many bells and in the midst of happy people, Pete Richards and a girl whose name he had yet to learn, walked out into the beginning of the great day that brings hope into the world for us all.

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A Surprise Inside
by Shirley Bachelder


Kathleen loved the look on Ted's face when he opened a gift. He was just like a little child; so excited that his fingers would fumble through the wrappings. It was as if he could not get the colored paper off quickly enough to see what kind of surprise was hidden inside. She chuckled to herself thinking how childish he would become. Watching Ted at Christmas was more fun than opening her own packages or decorating the house.

Ted and Kathleen had been married twenty-three years now; twenty-three Christmases together in their own home. Christmas was always such fun. She knew that some of the holidays had begun to run together in her mind, but there were so many warm memories it didn't matter.

Kathleen felt like giggling out loud as she lay there thinking about one Christmas early in their marriage. It was probably their second holiday season together. She had planned for months to buy Ted a new watch. His old one had been a graduation present. By now the watch had become so scratched and ugly she wondered why it never seemed to embarrass him. Each Monday morning she would watch Ted adjust the time by ten minutes, knowing it would gradually creep ahead during the next seven days. Ted would never buy a new watch for himself. It was the kind of expenditure that made him very uncomfortable - buying things for himself that seemed unnecessary. Getting the band repaired was about as far as he would go.

Money had been tight that year, so Kathleen had taken a part-time job. Ted had just opened his law office and they were hoping to start a family. But the start-up costs along with household expenses and repaying student loans were just too much. They decided to put the family plans on hold and Kathleen went back to work. That did give her the chance, however, to put some money aside to buy the watch. For six months she saved. Then, as a real stroke of luck she found the watch on sale. Now it was possible to buy that special watchband as well. She dreamed of Ted's successful look as he sat across the desk from one of his clients. But most of all she wanted to see how surprised he would be on Christmas morning. No parent of a small child could have waited more eagerly.

The surprise was almost ruined. There had been a mix-up at the jewelry store with the receipt. The store manager called the house the evening after Kathleen had purchased the watch. Ted answered the telephone. At first he didn't understand what the manager was saying, but not for long. Ted now knew that Kathleen had purchased a man's watch and that the store manager would be mailing the proper receipt. Kathleen ran through the memories of Ted's story about how he planned to act surprised. What he didn't know was that his surprise would be genuine.

Ted looked a little sheepish on Christmas morning. He tried to pretend it was just sleepiness, but Kathleen had suspected something was wrong. When it came time for him to open his present, Ted went through his usual routine of hurriedly ripping off the wrapping paper and tossing it aside in tiny chunks. He had a rather tentative look as he reached the watchbox inside. But when he opened the box, his eyes took on the sparkle of Christmas tree lights in a dark living room. The watch he found inside was not just any watch; it was a duplicate of the beautiful timepiece worn by his father. Dad's watch had gone to Ted's brother Phil. It was something he had long lamented, but admitted only to Kathleen. No gift from anyone could have added to the joy she felt in bringing happiness to her beloved - and a bit childish - husband.

That was only one special Christmas. There had been so many. Kathleen laid there and pondered their first Christmas with Melinda. As it turned out, Ted and Kathleen could have no children of their own. It took them almost no time at all to decide on adoption. They had planned to wait for a baby until a particularly clever agency director introduced them to Melinda. At eighteen months this little dark-haired girl had the determination of a daredevil, not to mention a sparkle in her eye previously associated with Ted. Ted always said he fell in love with another woman. So both the women he loved became a part of his family.

The first Christmas for the three of them may well have been their funniest. Kathleen and Ted were both so excited about their daughter that they couldn't stop buying presents. By the time the holy morning arrived they had filled half the dining room with gifts - just for Melinda. Even with Ted's expert help, Melinda ended up falling asleep before she got all her packages unwrapped. Once they realized what they had done, Ted and Kathleen threw their arms around each other and laughed until the tears flowed.

Melinda's growing up had gone very well. Somehow there was enough love between the three of them to get through all the rough spots. Kathleen silently uttered her usual prayer of thanks to God for the blessings Melinda had brought to their lives. She knew she had been given a family as wonderful as families come. It was as if her family came with the brightest wrapping paper and the biggest bow. God was the gift-giver to thank. There was no question about that. As it always did, Kathleen's silent prayer ended by asking God to care for Melinda in whatever she might be doing today. Kathleen tried to imagine what that might be, but the thoughts only made her weary. Her mind began to wander.

The door opened as Ted noisily entered the room. He threw his coat on a nearby chair, being careful to hold a brightly wrapped little package.

"This one's for you, Sweetheart," Ted cheerfully announced as he set the package on the nightstand. "You're going to love it. I knew it was for you when I spotted it in the department store. I even told the salesclerk how nice it would look with your dark hair and dark eyes."

Ted seemed to go on and on with his description of the Christmas present, never even slowing down for a reply. Finally he just pulled up a chair and sat down next to Kathleen's bed. He had just resumed the conversation when the door opened again. An attractive young woman in her mid-twenties entered the room, smiling at Kathleen.

"Good evening Mr. Cooper," she said, greeting Ted as well.

"Hi Carol. How has your day been going?" Ted seemed genuinely happy to see her.

"We've been really busy," the young woman replied. "I was hoping to get out at lunch and do some Christmas shopping, but I never got away. This is my last week to get it done."

"I think I have things pretty well under control," said Ted. "Melinda's coming home the end of the week and we'll get the tree up then." As he talked Ted reached for the Christmas package on the nightstand, holding it up for the young woman to see.

"This one's for Kathleen," he said smiling. "I've already told her how beautiful she will look in it. But it's still a surprise. Kathleen won't find out what it is until Christmas morning." Ted winked at Carol as he returned the Christmas present to the nightstand by Kathleen's bed.

The jolly conversation soon ended, however. The young nurse carefully adjusted Kathleen's feeding tube, checked her respirator and quietly left the room. Alone again, Ted reached out and grasped the hand of his comatose wife. He continued to smile, but the wrinkles in his brow betrayed a life more serious than he really wanted.

"I love you Kathleen," Ted whispered, breaking the silence. There was, of course, no response. Kathleen just lay there looking like the strangest sort of human machine. She seemed so very complex, and yet so very helpless.

Ted has never figured out what happened next. It was one of those mysterious Christmas things that you never forget but only partially understand. Some people call them miracles. As he squeezed Kathleen's hand he was filled with a tremendous urge to rip open that Christmas present like a kid on the heels of St. Nick. So he did. Feeling a bit silly he held up the present he had brought his wife. Yes, it was beautiful; and he knew she would have loved it. Ted never told a soul, but as he glanced in Kathleen's silent direction he could have sworn he saw her smile.

Copyright Charles R. Exley, 1991

Copyright permission is granted for public presentation of this story as long as credit is given the author. Distribution of printed copies is prohibited.

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Tale of the Wise Men
from Matthew 2:1-23


After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him."

When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. When he had called together all the people's chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Christ was to be born. "In Bethlehem in Judea," they replied, "for this is what the prophet has written: "`But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will be the shepherd of my people Israel."

Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and make a careful search for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him."

After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.

On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshipped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh.

And having been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their country by another route.

When they had gone, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. "Get up," he said, "take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him."

So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: "Out of Egypt I called my son."

When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: "A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more."

After Herod died, an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, "Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child's life are dead."

So he got up, took the child and his mother and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was reigning in Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. Having been warned in a dream, he withdrew to the district of Galilee, and he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets: "He will be called a Nazarene."

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The Three Kings of Cologne
A Legend for the Middle Ages
By John of Hildesheim - Modernized by H. S. Morris


The Star


Now, when the Children of Israel were gone out of Egypt, and had won and made subject to them Jerusalem and all the land lying about, there was in the Kingdom of Ind a tall hill called the Hill of Vaws, or the Hill of Victory. On this hill were stationed sentinels of Ind, who watched day and night against the Children of Israel, and afterward against the Romans.

And if an enemy approached, the keepers of the Hill of Vaws made a great fire to warn the inhabitants of the land so that the men might make ready to defend themselves.

Now in the time when Balaam prophesied of the Star that should betoken the birth of Christ, all the great lords and the people of Ind and in the East desired greatly to see this Star of which he spake; and they gave gifts to the keepers of the Hill of Vaws, and bade them, if they saw by night or by day any star in the air, that had not been seen aforetime, that they, the keepers, should send anon word to the people of Ind.

And thus was it that for so long a time the fame of this Star was borne throughout the lands of the East. And the more the Star was sought for, and the more its fame increased, so much the more all the people of the Land of Ind desired to see it. So they ordained twelve of the wisest and greatest of the clerks of astronomy, that were in all that country about, and gave them great hire to keep watch upon the Hill of Vaws for the Star that was prophesied of Balaam.

Now, when Christ was born in Bethlehem of Judea, His Star began to rise in the manner of a sun, bright shining. It ascended above the Hill of Vaws, and all that day in the highest air it abode without moving, insomuch that when the sun was hot and most high there was no difference in shining betwixt them.

But when the day of the nativity was passed the Star ascended up into the firmament, and it had right many long streaks and beams, more burning and brighter than a brand of fire; and, as an eagle flying and beating the air with his wings, right so the streaks and beams of the Star stirred about.

Then all the people, both man and woman, of all that country about when they saw this marvelous Star, were full of wonder thereat; yet they knew well that it was the Star that was prophesied of Balaam, and long time was desired of all the people in that country.

Now, when the three worshipful kings, who at that time reigned in Ind, Chaldea, and Persia, were informed by the astronomers of this Star, they were right glad that they had grace to see the Star in their days.

Wherefore these three worshipful kings, Melchior, Balthazar, and Jasper [in the same hour the Star appeared to all three], though each of them was far from the other, and none knew of the others' purpose, decided to go and seek and worship the Lord and King of the Jews, that was new born, as the appearance of the Star announced.

So each king prepared great and rich gifts, and trains of mules, camels, and horses charged with treasure, and together with a great multitude of people they set forth on their journeys.

The Child


Now, when these three worshipful kings were passed forth out of their kingdoms, the Star went before each king and his people. When they stood still and rested, the Star stood still; and when they went forward again, the Star always went before them in virtue and strength and gave light all the way.

And, as it is written, in the time that Christ was born, there was peace in all the world, wherefore in all the cities and towns through which they went there was no gate shut neither by night nor by day; and all the people of those same cities and towns marveled wonderfully as they saw kings and vast multitudes go by in great haste; but they knew not what they were, nor whence they came, nor whither they should go.

Furthermore these three kings rode forth over hills, waters, valleys, plains, and other divers and perilous places without hindrance, for all the way seemed to them plain and even. And they never took shelter by night nor by day, nor ever rested, nor did their horses and other beasts ever eat or drink till they had come to Bethlehem. And all this time it did seem to them as one day.

But when the three blessed kings had come near to Jerusalem, then a great cloud of darkness hid the Star from their sight. And when Melchior and his people were come fast by the city, they abode in fog and darkness. Then came Balthazar, and he abode under the same cloud near unto Melchior. There upon appeared Jasper with all his host.

So these three glorious kings, each with his host and burdens and beasts, met together in the highway without the city of Jerusalem. And, notwithstanding, that none of them ever before had seen the other, nor knew him, nor had heard of his coming, yet at their meeting each one with great reverence and joy kissed the other. So afterward, when they had spoken together and each had told his purpose and the cause of his journey, they were much more glad and fervent. So they rode forth, and at the uprising of the sun, they came into Jerusalem. And yet the Star appeared not.

So then these three worshipful kings, when they were come into the city, asked of the people concerning the Child that was born; and when Herod heard this he was troubled and all Jerusalem with him, and he privately summoned to him these three kings and learned of them the time when the Star appeared. He then sent them forth, bidding them find the young Child and return to him.

Now when these three kings were passed out of Jerusalem the Star appeared to them again as it did erst, and went before them till they were come to Bethlehem.

Now, the nearer the kings came to the place where Christ was born, the brighter shined the Star, and they entered Bethlehem the sixth hour of the day. And they rode through the streets till they came before a little house. There the Star stood still, and then descended and shone with so great a light that the little house was full of radiance; till anon the Star went upward again into the air, and stood still always above the same place.

And the three kings went into the little house and found the Child with his mother, and they fell down and worshipped him, and offered him gifts.

And you shall understand that these three kings had brought great gifts from their own lands, rich ornaments and divers golden vessels, and many jewels and precious stones, and both gold and silver, -- these they had brought to offer to the King of the Jews. But when they found the Lord in a little-house, in poor clothes, and when they saw that the Star gave so great and holy a light in all the place that it seemed as though they stood in a furnace of fire, then were they so sore afraid, that of all the rich jewels and ornaments they had brought with them, they chose from their treasures what came first to their hands. For Melchior took a round apple of gold in his hand, and thirty gilt pennies, and these he offered unto our Lord; and Balthazar took out of his treasury incense; and Jasper took out myrrh, and that he offered with weeping and tears.

And now after these three kings had worshipped the Lord, they abode in Bethlehem for a little space, and as they abode, there came a command to them, in their sleep, that they should not return to Herod; and so by another way they went home to their kingdoms. But the Star that had gone before appeared no more.

So these three kings, who had suddenly met together in the highway before Jerusalem, went home together with great joy and honor. And when, after many days' journey over perilous places, they had come to the Hill of Vaws, they made there a fair chapel in worship of the Child they had sought. Also they agreed to meet together at the same place once in the year, and they ordained that the Hill of Vaws should be the place of their burial.

So when the three worshipful kings had done what they would, they took leave of each other, and each one with his people rode to his own land rejoicing.

How They Came To Cologne


Now, after many years, a little before the feast of Christ-mas, there appeared a wonderful Star above the cities where these three kings dwelt, and they knew thereby that their time was come when they should pass from earth. Then with one consent they built, at the Hill of Vaws, a fair and large tomb, and there the three Holy Kings, Melchior, Balthazar, and Jasper died, and were buried in the same tomb by their sorrowing people.

Now after much time had passed away, Queen Helen, the mother of the Emperor Constantine, began to think greatly of the bodies of these three kings, and she arrayed herself, and, accompanied by many attendants, went into the Land of Ind.

And you shall understand that after she had found the bodies of Melchior, Balthazar, and Jasper, Queen Helen put them into one chest and ornamented it with great riches, and she brought them into Constantinople, with joy and reverence, and laid them in a church that is called Saint Sophia; and this church the Emperor Constantine did make, -- he alone, with a little child, set up all the marble pillars thereof.

Now, after the death of the Emperor Constantine a persecution against the Christian faith arose, and in this persecution the bodies of the three worshipful kings were set at naught. Then came the Emperor Mauricius of Rome, and, through his counsel, the bodies of these three kings were carried to Italy, and there they were laid in a fair church in the city of Milan.

Then afterward, in the process of time, the city of Milan rebelled against the Emperor Frederick the First, and he, being sore beset, sent to Rainald, Archbishop of Cologne, asking for help.

This Archbishop with his army did take the city of Milan, and delivered it to the Emperor. And for this service did the Emperor grant, at the Archbishop's great entreaty, that he should carry forth to Cologne the bodies of the three blessed kings.

Then the Archbishop, with great solemnity and in procession, did carry forth from the city of Milan the bodies of the three kings, and brought them unto Cologne and there placed them in the fair church of Saint Peter. And all the people of the country roundabout, with all the reverence they might, received these relics, and there in the city of Cologne they are kept and beholden of all manner of nations unto this day.

Thus endeth the legend of these three blessed kings, -- Melchior, Balthazar, and Jasper.

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The Tumbleweed; a Christ-mas Story
Author Unknown


Many years ago, when my son was 4 and I was struggling to make ends meet, I couldn't afford a tree for Christ-mas. I was so distraught, and felt like a failure not being able to get a tree for my precious boy. At that time there were no charities that gave out trees and gifts for the financially challenged, and I was way too proud to go to my parents for help.

On the evening of the 23rd, on my way home from work at a guest ranch in a small Wyoming town, the largest tumbleweed I had ever seen blew across the road in front of me. Inspiration fell upon me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I knew I had to have that tumbleweed! I pulled my pick-up over to the side of the road, and chased the tumbleweed to a snaggled end at a barbed wire fence. Wresting my prize from the fence, I realized the tumbleweed was a full 6 feet in diameter and at least 4 feet tall. After depositing my new found friend in the camper-covered bed of my old pick-up, I sped home.

Both the baby-sitter and my son looked at me as if I had lost my mind when I brought the giant ball of tangles into the house. I hurriedly paid the sitter, and fed my son dinner. After putting him to bed, I took the tumbleweed downstairs and spray-painted it gloss red. I left it to dry overnight.

Christ-mas Eve was usually a big day in my family and I wanted it to be good for my son too. After breakfast I brought the shiny, bright transformed tumbleweed upstairs to decorate it for our tree. I dropped little blinky lights into the glossy globe and handed my son a box of foil tinsel, which he proceeded to throw at the tumbleweed. He was ecstatic! What fun he had tossing the shiny, slick stuff at the tumbleweed, me, the cat, and even on the windowsills.

Laughing and playing and having fun, my son didn't know that we were really broke, and that Santa probably wouldn't make it to our house. The doorbell rang. I opened the door to find my dad standing there with several boxes of food and wrapped packages for us. My son ran excitedly to his beloved granddad, and pulled him to see the "Christ-mas weed" as he called it. Smiling and giggly my son gave his granddad a hand full of tinsel and showed him how to throw it. My dear dad turned to me with tears running down his face, and said he didn't realize how strapped we were, but was proud of me for finding something for my most loved son.

Now, many years later, we still talk of the "Christ-mas weed" and how it brought my son, my dad and me closer together. It's my fondest Christ-mas memory.

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The Violin Thief
by Joseph Auslander and Audrey Wurdemann


It was a day or two before Christ-mas. Like all courtrooms, this one smelled of disinfectant and too much steam heat. A few scant rays of pale winter sunshine, struggling in a watery rise through the high dirty windows, dulled the unshed electric lights to whitish blurs. Spectators were few. The docket didn't look exciting.

The accused little man stood before the golden oak bar of justice. He was an old man; they had allowed him the dignity of keeping his hat, but the big blue-coated policeman stood close behind him as his accuser spoke.

"All kinds of people come to my place," the plaintiff was saying. "You'd be surprised, Your Honor...bums, actors out of work, women from over on Park Avenue, too, sometimes. When this little guy comes in he looks respectable, see? So when he asks to see the violin I take it out of the window and hand it to him to look at. If he'd asked to see a watch or a ring, no matter how respectable he looked I'd keep my eye on him like an eagle. But a fiddle! I turn my back for a second, and he's run halfway down the block. You wouldn't think he had the nerve!"

The violin lay on a table before the bench; the pale winter night tangled with its amber lacquer.

"Seventy-five dollars, Your Honor," said the pawn broker. "I wouldn't have let it go for a cent less. And this old goof, he thinks he can run out with it for nothing.

The judge, a fat, tired man, nodded wearily. "Did you tell him the price?"

"Sure, I told him. And he said he didn't have it, but maybe he could buy it on time. And I told him five dollars down and a dollar a week, but he said he didn't have the five."

The judge glanced at the waiting cop, "Suppose we hear from you now.

"It's like he said, your Honor," the blue coat stated flatly. "I was just rounding the corner when this little character ran into me. I hear a lot of hooting and hollering where he came from, so I hang onto him. Then up comes Sol, here, who's had his shop on that same block for twenty years. And up come five or six other people who see the guy running out of Sol's place with the fiddle."

The big cop looked down at the little man.

"One thing I'll say about it, he didn't make any trouble coming to the station. Only I had a real job getting him to let loose of the fiddle."

"Well," said the judge, "and what have you got to say about all this?"

The little old man lifted his head; the judge saw that his eyes were a cloudy blue, soft as a child's.

"Sir Magistrate, I don't speak English so much. So maybe I can't explain. I pay, sure I pay, some day, but I can't pay now. This all I got." He held up two fingers. "Two dollars I pay, not five. But here I am lonesome for the violin, and her."

He put his hand over his heart and then at his neck, cocking his head as though his chin rested on a fiddle. "And here," He held out his hands, and though they were gnarled and twisted, you could see that they might once have been the supple hands of an artist.

"I understand, Sir Magistrate. I pay, I want to pay. I don't know what came over me. I went crazy for a minute when I had the violin in my hands. I pay, little by little I pay up. But I need the violin now. Before I die, I die soon, without the music."

"Suppose you tell the court why you need the music so badly," said the judge, his eyes on the lozenges of light hovering over the violin on the table.

"Because I am a musician!" the old man drew himself up proudly. "Year in, year out, in Prague and then in Vienna I am a musician in the orchestra. First, I am a third violin, then second, then first. I play in the Theatre twenty years, in the summer for people who sit under trees, in winter for the skaters. Oh, how they waltzed on their skates to our music. But the enemy came, and they broke our violins over our heads because we would not play the propaganda...and they took us away." He shivered, "I was away five years."

"You mean you were in a concentration camp?" asked the judge.

"Camp...salt mines...mills...camp again, after I get too sick to work," The little man looked at his hands. "I don't know if can play any more...so good. But here...in my heart...it will still sing."

"And what do you do now?"

"I have job. I sweep out, sometimes I wash dishes. Busboy, they call me. In cafeteria...After I come back...from being away nobody was left. My wife, my son, my friends, all gone. So my brother in America send for me. But he's poor, big family, so I don't ask him to buy me violin. I buy myself, only little by little. But I die, without."

"Let me see that fiddle." The judge reached across the bench; the cop handed it up to him. Carefully he turned it in his hands, unfastened the bow which was attached to one of the pegs by a rubber band. After a moment he tucked the instrument under his chin, curved his hand around the finger board and twanged the strings gently. But he did not lift the bow.

"Sir Magistrate," said the little man, "do you know what it means to be without music? It is as if they take away my soul."

The judge picked up the bow, held it for a moment on the strings and then laid it down. "Oh, please," said the little man. "I must have the music. If I had the violin I can breathe again."

"What do you want for this instrument?" His fingers were softly plucking the strings.

"Seventy-five dollars, Your Honor."

"Seventy-five dollars...to, breathe again."

Then silence fell in the courtroom and resounded through the fading light; the handful of people in the back of the room stared first at the judge and then at each other.

"Case dismissed," said the judge. He reached into his trousers pocket. "I think we can fix up a way for you to have the violin. Five dollars down? Here's five."

He reached toward the pawn broker with the money and said, "I will stand behind this man's guarantee to pay you the balance."

The cop fished in his own pocket and came up with a five-dollar bill. "It must be the Irish in me," he said, shaking his head.

From the back of the room two men came up the aisle to the bench. "We're witnesses on another case," one of them said, "How about letting us in on the deal?"

Others struggled down the aisles. The little man tried to speak; choked; he could not be heard above the clamor. The judge rapped for order. And then above the clamor the little man found his voice. He turned his hat around as he spoke.

"No, Sir Magistrate," he said. "I hope you will understand. It is hard to talk now. I am filled up; here, it hurts." He pointed to his throat. "How can I take so much....take the violin this way? I know what you try to do for me here. Judge, Sir Magistrate, how can I fix with him?" He pointed to the pawn broker. "So he knows I do not steal...Please, Sir Judge...I...What happens today squeezes...in my heart."

The judge coughed and blinked and blew his nose, and so did the cop. At the back of the room a couple of women and an old man were crying openly. Somehow word of this little drama had sifted into the hall, and now other people began to drift in.

The judge looked at the pawn broker. "How much have you got there?"

The pawn broker regarded the grimy bills in his hands. He counted them slowly. "Twenty- nine dollars and thirty-five cents, Your Honor, but that's okay by me," he said. "Seeing he's a musician, I'll make it my professional rate, thirty dollars...with the bow thrown in."

The little man bowed. "A professional rate, yea, that I understand. Always in Europe the shops made rates for the artists. But these people who have paid for me..."

AND, there, in that court, on a pale winter afternoon a day or two before Christ-mas, the little man with twisted, gnarled hands took the fiddle lovingly and reverently, as though he took up the pillow upon which rests the Holy Grail. And after a moment he tucked it under his chin, and twanged the strings into tune, and the room was filled with the simple heart searching magic of "Silent Night, Holy Night."...

After he finished, the judge glanced around the room. "Anybody who thinks he's guilty enough to spend Christ-mas in jail can stay and be sentenced," he said gruffly, "Otherwise, you all clear out. I'm remanding every arrest in this room till after New Year's and then I want you back here, and if you don't come in and the police have to go hunting for you, I'll crack down twice as hard. And you..." he pointed to the little man. "You're coming home to dinner with me and afterwards, maybe you'll play for me. I could use a little music.

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Wally's Christ-mas Pageant
by Dina Donohue


For years now whenever Christ-mas pageants are talked about in a certain little town in the Midwest, someone is sure to mention the name of Wallace Purling. Wally's performance in one annual production of the Nativity Play has slipped into the realm of legend. But the old timers who were in the audience that night never tire of recalling exactly what happened.

Wally was nine that year and in the second grade, though he should have been in the fourth. Most people in the town knew that he had difficulty in keeping up. He was big and clumsy, slow in movement and mind. Still, Wally was liked by the other children in his class, all of whom were smaller than he, though the boys had trouble hiding their irritation when Wally would ask to play ball with them or any game, for that matter, in which winning was important.

Most often they'd find a way to keep him out, but Wally would hang around anyway - not sulking, just hoping. He was always a helpful boy, a willing and smiling one, and the natural protector, paradoxically, of the underdog. Sometimes if the older boys chased the younger ones away, it would always be Wally who'd say, "Can't they stay? They're no bother."

Wally fancied the idea of being a shepherd with a flute in the Christ-mas pageant that year, but the play's director, Miss Lambard, assigned him to a more important role. After all, she reasoned, the Innkeeper did not have too many lines, and Wally's size would make his refusal of lodging to Joseph more forceful.

And so it happened that the usual large, partisan audience gathered for the town's yearly extravaganza of crooks and crèches, of beards, crowns, halos and a whole stage full of squeaky voices. No one on stage or off was more caught up in the magic of the night than Wallace Purling. They said later that he stood in the wings and watched the performance with such fascination that from time to time Miss Lambard had to make sure he did not wander on-stage before his cue.

Then came the time when Joseph appeared, slowly, tenderly guiding Mary to the door of the inn. Joseph knocked hard on the wooden door set into the painted backdrop. Wally the Innkeeper was there, waiting.

"What do you want?" Wally said, swinging the door open with a brusque gesture.

"We seek lodging."

"Seek it elsewhere." Wally looked straight ahead, but spoke vigorously. "The inn is filled."

"Sir we have asked everywhere in vain. We have traveled far and we are very weary."

"There is no room in this inn for you." Wally looked properly stern.

"Please good innkeeper, this is my wife Mary. She is heavy with child and needs a place to rest. Surely you must have some small corner for her. She is so tired."

Now for the first time, the Innkeeper relaxed his stiff stance and looked down at Mary. With that, there was a long pause, long enough to make the audience a bit tense with embarrassment.

"No! Be gone!" the prompter whispered from the wings.

"No!" Wally repeated automatically. "Be gone!"

Joseph sadly placed his arm around Mary, and Mary laid her head upon her husband's shoulder and the two of them started to move away. The Innkeeper did not return inside the inn, however. Wally stood there in the doorway watching the forlorn couple. His mouth was open, his brow creased with concern, and his eyes filling unmistakably with tears.

And suddenly this Christ-mas pageant became different from all others.

"Don't go Joseph," Wally called out. "Bring Mary back." And Wallace Purling's face grew into a bright smile. "You can have my room."

Some people in town thought that the pageant had been ruined. Yet there were other- many, many others- who considered it the most Christ-mas of all Christ-mas pageants that they had ever seen.

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Why The Bells Chimed
by Raymond Macdonald Alden


There was once, in a far-away country where few people have ever traveled, a wonderful church. It stood on a high hill in the center of a great city; and every Sunday, as well as on sacred days like Christ-mas, thousands of people climbed the hill to its great archways, looking like lines of ants all moving in the same direction.

When you came to the building itself, you found stone columns and dark passageways, and a grand entrance leading to the main room of the church. This room was so long that one standing at the door-way could scarcely see to the other end, where the choir stood by the large altar. In the farthest corner was the organ, and this organ was so loud that sometimes when it played, the people for miles around would close their shutters and prepare for a great thunderstorm. Altogether, no such church as this was ever seen before, especially when it was lighted up for some festival, and crowded with people, young and old.

But the strangest thing about the old building was the wonderful chime of bells. At one corner of the church was a great, gray tower, with ivy growing over it as far up as one can see. I say as far as one can see because the tower was quite grand enough to fit the grand church, and it rose so far into the sky that it was only in fair weather that anyone claimed to be able to see the top. Even then one could not be certain that it was in sight. Up and up climbed the stones and the ivy, and, as the men who built the church had been dead for hundreds of years, everyone had forgotten how high the tower was supposed to be.

Now, all the people knew that at the top of the tower was a chime of Christ-mas bells. They had hung there ever since the church had been built, and were the most beautiful bells in the world. Some thought it was because a great musician had cast them and arranged them in their place; others said it was because of the great height, which reached up where the air was cleanest and purest. However that might be, no one who had ever heard the chimes denied that they were the sweetest in the world. Some described them as sounding like angels far up in the sky; others, as sounding like strange winds singing through the trees.

But the fact was that no one had heard them for years and years. There was an old man living not far from the church who said that his mother had spoken of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he was the only one who was sure of as much as that. They were Christ-mas chimes, you see, and were not meant to be played by men or on common days. It was the custom on Christ-mas Eve for all the people to bring to the church their offerings to the Christ- child; and when the greatest and best offering was laid on the altar, there used to come sounding through the music of the choir the Christ-mas chimes far up in the tower. Some said that the wind rang them, and others that they were so high that the angels could start them swinging. But for many years they had never been heard.

It was said that people were growing less careful of their gifts for the Christ-child, and that no offering was brought great enough to deserve the music of the chimes. Every Christ-mas Eve the rich people still crowded to the altar, each one trying to bring some gift better than any other, without giving anything he wanted for himself, and the church was crowded with those who thought that perhaps the wonderful bells might be heard again. But although the services were splendid and the offerings plenty, only the roar of the wind could be heard, far up in the stone tower.

Now, a number of miles from the city, in a little country village where nothing could be seen of the tower when the weather was fine, lived a boy named Pedro, and his little brother. They knew very little about the Christ-mas chimes, but they had heard of the service in the church on Christ-mas Eve, and had a secret plan, which they had often talked over when by themselves, to go and see the beautiful celebration.

"Nobody can guess, Little Brother," Pedro would say, "all the fine things there are to see and hear; and I have even heard it said that the Christ-child sometimes comes down to bless the service. What if we could see Him!"

The day before Christ-mas was bitterly cold, with a few lonely snowflakes flying in the air, and a hard white crust on the ground. Sure enough, Pedro and Little Brother were able to slip quietly away, early in the afternoon; and although the walk was hard in the frosty air, before nightfall they had trudged so far, hand in hand, that they saw the lights of the big city just ahead of them. Indeed, they were about to enter one of the great gates in the wall that surrounded it when they saw something dark on the snow near the path, and stepped aside to look at it.

It was a poor woman who had fallen just outside the city, too sick and tired to get in where she might have found shelter. The soft snow made of a drift a sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so sound asleep in the wintry air that no one could ever waken her again. All this Pedro saw in a moment, and he knelt down beside her and tried to rouse her, even tugging at her arm a little as though he would have tried to carry her away. He turned her face toward him so that he could rub some of the snow on it, and when he had looked at her silently a moment, he stood up again and said:

"It's no good. Little Brother. You will have to go on alone."

"Alone?" cried Little Brother, "And you not see the Christ-mas Festival?"

"No," said Pedro, and he could not keep back a bit of the choking sound in his throat. "See this poor woman. She will freeze to death if nobody cares for her. Everyone has gone to the church now, but when you come back you can bring someone to help her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, and perhaps get her to eat the bun that is left in my pocket."

"But I cannot bear to leave you, and go on alone," said Little Brother.

"Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro, "and it had better be I than you. You can easily find your way to the church; and you must see and hear everything twice, Little Brother, -- once for you and once for me. I am sure the Christ-child must know how I should love to come with you and worship Him; and oh! if you get a chance, Little Brother, to slip up to the altar without getting in anyone's way, take this little silver piece of mine, and lay it down for my offering when no one is looking. Don't forget where you have left me, and forgive me for not going with you."

In this way he hurried Little Brother off to the city, and winked hard to keep back the tears as he heard the crunching footsteps sounding farther and farther away in the twilight. It was pretty hard to lose the music and splendor of the Christ-mas celebration that he had been planning for so long, and spend the time instead in that lonely place in the snow.

The great church was a wonderful place that night. Everyone said that it had never looked so bright and beautiful before. When the organ played and the thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the sound and little Pedro, outside the city wall, felt the earth tremble around him, for the sound was so great.

At the close of the service came the procession with offerings to be laid on the altar. Rich men and great men marched proudly up to lay down their gifts to the Christ-child. Some brought wonderful jewels, some baskets of gold so heavy that they could scarcely carry them down the aisle. A great writer laid down a book that he had been making for years and years.

And last of all walked the king of the country, hoping with all the rest to win for himself the chime of the Christ-mas bells. There went a great murmur through the church. as the people saw the king take from his head the royal crown, all set with precious stones, and lay it gleaming on the altar as his offering to the holy Child. "Surely." everyone said, "we shall hear the bells now, for nothing like this has ever happened before."

But still only the cold old wind was heard in the tower, and the people shook their heads, and some of them said, as they had before, that they never really believed the story of the chimes, and doubted if they ever rang at all.

The procession was over, and the choir began the closing hymn. Suddenly the organist stopped playing as though he had been shot, and everyone looked at the old minister who was standing by the altar holding up his hand for silence. Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the church, but as all the people strained their ears to listen there came softly, but distinctly swinging through the air, the sound of the chimes in the tower. So far away and yet so clear the music seemed -- so much sweeter were the notes than anything that had been heard before, rising and falling away up there in the sky, that the people in the church sat for a moment as still as though something held each of them by the shoulders. Then they all stood up together and stared straight at the altar to see what great gift had awakened the long-silent bells.

But all that the nearest of them saw was the childish figure of Little Brother, who had crept softly down the aisle when no one was looking, and had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on the altar.

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Wisdom At Christ-mas And Every Day
Author Unknown


It was quiet at the retirement home, each elderly person had their memories, some filled with a special family Christ-mas and some not so joyful times. As Lynn and Diane stood there carefully analyzing each one, they whispered to each other as if discussing their very own children and suddenly their eyes met unspoken thoughts whirled through their minds for it was clear that these people had become the children of yesterday.

Nana just turned 84 on Dec. 14th, she wanted one thing for Christ-mas. She wanted to see her husband, Charley, but this was impossible to give her. Diane managed to get lots of pictures of Charley and put them in a beautifully wrapped box. Mary wanted pork chops for dinner, that was in addition to turkey and gravy of course. Richard wanted to get his drivers license, not to drive, but to be able to tell his son that he could drive if he wanted to. Mary Catherine wanted a good looking man, you know the kind that is a smooth dancer. Her daughter kept telling her, "mom, dad didn't dance?" Mary Catherine would just grin. Norman just hoped he'd get a card from one of his five children, this was a thirty year old wish, but maybe this was the Christ-mas. Joe wanted his doctor to tell Diane to let him have all the Bayer Aspirin he wanted on Christ-mas day so he'd be able to dance the Irish jig, in spite of his arthritis. Dorothy wanted to watch one soap opera after another all Christ-mas day without being disturbed by the foolishness of a Holiday dinner or singing Christ-mas Carols. She didn't want some foolish phone call from New York either. Zola never verbalized what she desired but every day thanked God for the beauty of being alive. Each individual, each child the same, so different, so unique.

If Diane or Lynn had the power to give them anything, they agreed, it would be peace of mind in knowing that their time on earth was well spent. Why? Each person had a legacy they had sprinkled in the lives of these young folks, as they called them. They had taught them that life is the gift, wisdom is the gift, aging is the reward, and Christ-mas is a symbol of desires never expected to be.

Today is Christ-mas for Lynn and Diane. The Retirement home is closed for good, all the folks have passed away except Zola who lives with her son now. Lynn is sitting on the sunporch telling the proprietor of the home where he now resides that he'd sure like to get his driver's license, just to show his son he could still drive. Diane is trying to tell the cook that porkchops would taste a lot better than turkey. Time has passed but people stay the same. Enjoy your Christ-mas and every day for one day you too might be that someone else and believe me it will happen.

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Within My Walls
by Gary R. Hatch


I was--oh, so old. My walls were thin, and between some of my boards were spaces that let in sunlight by day and the cool breezes by night. My only other source of sunlight was a massive door, held on by thick leather straps.

I stood behind a stately looking inn. For this I was glad. I was embarrassed because of my undignified appearance. I was created for a lowly purpose, for I was a stable.

The time of taxation had arrived. The stately inn was packed with people. All I held were a few cows.

Early this day my master had cleaned my floors and changed my straw. I prepared myself for the rough treatment the cattle always gave me, but to my surprise the cattle were very gentle. They all stood in one corner and ate very little of the straw. By the end of the day I still looked beautiful--for a stable.

Suddenly my door creaked open, letting in the night air, which I was trying so hard to keep out. There stood my master beside a tall, kindly looking man of those times.

"This will be fine, sir" The stranger was saying, "but we must bade them good night and left." The stranger walked to the center of my floor. Followed by a small donkey, which carried a woman. The man gently placed her on my fresh, clean straw. She was beautiful, but in great pain.

That night she gave birth to a child. She gave birth to the Son of God within my frail walls.

A star, brighter than all the rest, shone down upon me, upon me and the glorious scene that was there within my walls.

Even though my position in life has been a lowly stable, I have fulfilled the measure of my creation.

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The Wooden Shoes of Little Wolff
by Francois Coppee


Once upon a time, -- so long ago that the world has forgotten the date, -- in a city of the North of Europe, -- the name of which is so hard to pronounce that no one remembers it, -- there was a little boy, just seven years old, whose name was Wolff. He was an orphan and lived with his aunt, a hard-hearted, avaricious old woman, who never kissed him but once a year, on New Year's Day; and who sighed with regret every time she gave him a bowl full of soup.

The poor little boy was so sweet-tempered that he loved the old woman in spite of her bad treatment, but he could not look without trembling at the wart, decorated with four gray hairs, which grew on the end of her nose.

As Wolff's aunt was known to have a house of her own and a woolen stocking full of gold, she did not dare to send her nephew to the school for the poor. But she wrangled so that the schoolmaster of the rich boys' school was forced to lower his price and admit little Wolff among his pupils. The bad schoolmaster was vexed to have a boy so meanly clad and who paid so little, and he punished little Wolff severely without cause, ridiculed him, and even incited against him his comrades, who were the sons of rich citizens. They made the orphan their drudge and mocked at him so much that the little boy was as miserable as the stones in the street, and hid himself away in corners to cry -- when the Christ-mas season came.

On the Eve of the great Day the schoolmaster was to take all his pupils to the midnight mass, and then to conduct them home again to their parents' houses.

Now as the winter was very severe, and a quantity of snow had fallen within the past few days, the boys came to the place of meeting warmly wrapped up, with fur-lined caps drawn down over their ears, padded jackets, gloves and knitted mittens, and good strong shoes with thick soles. Only little Wolff presented himself shivering in his thin everyday clothes, and wearing on his feet socks and wooden shoes.

His naughty comrades tried to annoy him in every possible way, but the orphan was so busy warming his hands by blowing on them, and was suffering so much from chilblains, that he paid no heed to the taunts of the others. Then the band of boys, marching two by two, started for the parish church.

It was comfortable inside the church, which was brilliant with lighted tapers. And the pupils, made lively by the gentle warmth, the sound of the organ, and the singing of the choir, began to chatter in low tones. They boasted of the midnight treats awaiting them at home. The son of the Mayor had seen, before leaving the house, a monstrous goose larded with truffles so that it looked like a black-spotted leopard. Another boy told of the fir tree waiting for him, on the branches of which hung oranges, sugar-plums, and punchinellos. Then they talked about what the Christ Child would bring them, or what he would leave in their shoes which they would certainly be careful to place before the fire when they went to bed. And the eyes of the little rogues, lively as a crowd of mice, sparkled with delight as they thought of the many gifts they would find on waking, -- the pink bags of burnt almonds, the bonbons, lead soldiers standing in rows, menageries, and magnificent jumping-jacks, dressed in purple and gold.

Little Wolff, alas! knew well that his miserly old aunt would send him to bed without any supper; but as he had been good and industrious all the year, he trusted that the Christ Child would not forget him, so he meant that night to set his wooden shoes on the hearth.

The midnight mass was ended. The worshipers hurried away, anxious to enjoy the treats awaiting them in their homes. The band of pupils, two by two, following the schoolmaster, passed out of the church.

Now, under the porch, seated on a stone bench, in the shadow of an arched niche, was a child asleep, -- a little child dressed in a white garment and with bare feet exposed to the cold. He was not a beggar, for his dress was clean and new, and -- beside him upon the ground, tied in a cloth, were the tools of a carpenter's apprentice.

Under the light of the stars, his face, with its closed eyes, shone with an expression of divine sweetness, and his soft, curling blond hair seemed to form an aureole of light about his forehead. But his tender feet, blue with the cold on this cruel night of December, were pitiful to see!

The pupils so warmly clad and shod, passed with indifference before the unknown child. Some, the sons of the greatest men in the city, cast looks of scorn on the barefooted one. But little Wolff, coming last out of the church, stopped deeply moved before the beautiful, sleeping child.

"Alas!" said the orphan to himself, "how dreadful! This poor little one goes without stockings in weather so cold! And, what is worse, he has no shoe to leave beside him while he sleeps, so that the Christ Child may place something in it to comfort him in all his misery."

And carried away by his tender heart, little Wolff drew off the wooden shoe from his right foot, placed it before the sleeping child; and as best as he was able, now hopping, now limping, and wetting his sock in the snow, he returned to his aunt.

"You good-for-nothing!" cried the old woman, full of rage as she saw that one of his shoes was gone. "What have you done with your shoe, little beggar?"

Little Wolff did not know how to lie, and, though shivering with terror as he saw the gray hairs on the end of her nose stand upright, he tried, stammering, to tell his adventure.

But the old miser burst into frightful laughter. "Ah! the sweet young master takes off his shoe for a beggar! Ah! master spoils a pair of shoes for a barefoot! This is something new, indeed! Ah! well, since things are so, I will place the shoe that is left in the fireplace, and to-night the Christ Child will put in a rod to whip you when you wake. And tomorrow you shall have nothing to eat but water and dry bread, and we shall see if the next time you will give away your shoe to the first vagabond that comes along."

And saying this the wicked woman gave him a box on each ear, and made him climb to his wretched room in the loft. There the heartbroken little one lay down in the darkness, and, drenching his pillow with tears, fell asleep.

But in the morning, when the old woman, awakened by the cold and shaken by her cough, descended to the kitchen, oh! wonder of wonders! she saw the great fireplace filled with bright toys, magnificent boxes of sugar-plums, riches of all sorts, and in front of all this treasure, the wooden shoe which her nephew had given to the vagabond, standing beside the other shoe which she herself had placed there the night before, intending to put in it a handful of switches.

And as little Wolff, who had come running at the cries of his aunt, stood in speechless delight before all the splendid Christ-mas gifts, there came great shouts of laughter from the street.

The old woman and the little boy went out to learn what it was all about, and saw the gossips gathered around the public fountain. What could have happened? Oh, a most amusing and extraordinary thing! The children of all the rich men of the city, whose parents wished to surprise them with the most beautiful gifts, had found nothing but switches in their shoes!

Then the old woman and little Wolff remembered with alarm all the riches that were in their own fireplace, but just then they saw the pastor of the parish church arriving with his face full of perplexity.

Above the bench near the church door, in the very spot where the night before a child, dressed in white, with bare feet exposed to the great cold, had rested his sleeping head, the pastor had seen a golden circle wrought into the old stones. Then all the people knew that the beautiful, sleeping child, beside whom had lain the carpenter's tools, was the Christ Child himself, and that he had rewarded the faith and charity of little Wolff.

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