December 17 (part 1)

Davey and the First Christmas

By Beth Vardon

Let’s pretend there was a boy, and Davey was his name,

Whose family lived in Bethlehem when Christmastime first came.

Davey had a special pet – a donkey small and gray,

And what the two of then did best was getting in the way!

Davey named the donkey Tim. He never rode him though.

Either Tim was built too high or Davey was too low!

Davey’s father had an inn where people came to stay;

And lots and lots and lots of them were coming there one day.

His father was as busy as six or seven bees!

So Davey said, “I want to help, can’t I do something, please?

Tim would like to help you too.

Find a job for us to do!”

“Listen, son,” his father said, “Last week you broke three jugs.

You scared my two best customers with your pet lightening bugs!

You tracked in mud on my clean floor, you tripped and dropped the bread.

And though I loved the fish you caught – why leave them on my bed?

I’ve put up with your helpfulness as long as I am able.

So do me one big favor now and get out- - and clean the stable!”

Davey sadly went and stood beside the stable door.

It hardly seemed that anyone could clean that dirty floor.

He and Tim both felt so bad they started to cry –

But then (thought Davey), “Yes, we can! Well, anyhow – let’s try.

First, let’s chase those chickens out. That’s what we’ve got to do.”

So Tim began to flap his ears while Davey shouted, “Shoooooo!”

The chickens clucked and flew and ducked, they fluttered wild and scary,

Until their feathers filled the air like snow in January.

Yes, Davey chased those chickens out, He and Tim together.

Bt now he had to get a sack and pick up every feather!

You should have seen how hard they worked! They stacked up all the wheat,

They straightened up the harnesses till they were nice and neat.

They fought with spiders bravely till they chased out every bug.

And since we must admit the truth – they broke another jug!

The very biggest job of all was stacking up the hay.

Davey climbed up to the loft and put it all away.

“Look, Tim. You see how high it is? I’ll make just one more trip.”

Then clear up by the stable roof his feet began to slip!

Down came the hay and Davey, too. The stable looked so queer –

All you could see was piles of hay – one sandal, and one ear!

Slowly they came out on top, and Davey didn’t whine,

Though hay stuck out all over him just like a porcupine!

He put the hay all back again and stacked it up with care –

But left one armload down below to fill the manger there.

So Davey’s work was done at last, and when it all looked neat,

He picked some flowers to rim the barn, and some for Tim to eat.

“I hope it’s clean enough,” he thought. “At least I did my best.”

And feeling very, very tired, he curled up for a rest…

Who woke up Dave from his sleep? Just guess them if you can.

Mary was the woman’s name, Joseph was the man.

Mary said, “Oh Joseph, look! This is a lovely place!”

Then seeing Davey there, she said, with such a shining face,

“Your father’s inn had no more rooms, tonight we’re staying here.

So tell me now, are you the boy who cleaned the stable, dear?

And did your donkey help you work? We want to thank him, too.”

Though Davey was still half asleep, his heart was glad clear through.

So that is how a little boy, two thousand years ago,

Stayed on to hear the angels sing and see the Star aglow.

As soon as Baby Jesus came to use the manger bed.

Then Davey’s sack of feathers made a pillow for His head.

No one told Davey anymore that he was in the way.

His work had helped get ready for the world’s first Christmas Day!

December 17 (part 2)

First Prize Women’s Day “Greatest Gift” Contest

By Sandra Bateman, American Fork, UT

It was but a few days until Christmas in 1966. Two young elders of the Mormon Church walked the streets of Laredo, Texas, knocking on doors in search of someone who would listen to their gospel message. No one, it seemed, in the entire city had time to hear the teachings of the Savior, so intent were they that the celebration of His birth suit their own social purposes.

Filled with discouragement, the two young men turned their backs to the approaching twilight and began the long walk home. Retracing their steps of the afternoon, they came upon a low, windswept riverbank. Jutting from its brow stood the barest means of a shelter, constructed of weathered wooded slats and large pieces of cardboard. Strangely, they felt moved to go to the door and knock. A small, olive-skinned child with tangled black hair and large dark eyes answered. Her mother appeared behind her, a short, thin woman with a tired but warm smile, in her rich Spanish alto she invited the young men to come in and rest a while. They were made welcome and seated on the clean swept floor. The little one room shanty seemed to be filled with shy, smiling, dark eyed children. The mother proudly introduced each of them – eight in all and each in turn quickly bobbed his or her head.

The young men were deeply moved at the extreme poverty they saw. Not one in the family had shoes, and their clothes were ill-fitting and in a condition beyond mending. The walls of the little home showed daylight between the wooden slats, and eight little rolls of bedding were pressed tightly into the cracks to help keep out the draft until they were needed for sleeping.

A small round fire pit dug in one corner marked the kitchen. An odd assortment of chipped dishes and pots were stacked beside an old ice chest, and a curtained-off section with a cracked porcelain tub served as the bathing area. Except for these the room was barren.

The mother told how her husband had gone north to find employment. He had written that he had found a job of manual labor and that it took most of his small wage to pay his board and room. But, she told the young men, he had managed to save fifty cents to send them for Christmas, with which she had purchased two boxes of fruit gelatin. It was one of the children’s favorites and would make a special treat on Christmas day.

The next morning, as soon as the local shops opened, the young men hurried to the dime store and purchased as many crayons, cars, trucks, and little inexpensive toys as they could afford. Each was carefully wrapped in brightly colored paper and all were put in a large grocery bag. That evening the two young men took their gifts to the shanty on the riverbank. When they knocked, the mother swung the door open wide and invited them in. They stepped inside and in halting Spanish explained to the children that they had seen Santa and he had been in such a hurry he’d asked if they would deliver his gifts to the children for him.

With cries of delight the children scrambled for the bag, spilling it’s contents upon the floor and quickly dividing the treasured packages. Silently the mother’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. She stepped forward to clasp tightly one of each of the young men’s hands in hers. For long moments she was unable to speak. Then, with tears still welling from her eyes, she smiled and said, “No one ever has been so kind. You have given us a special gift, the king of love that lights Christmas in the heart. May we also give you a special gift?” From the corner of the room she drew out the two small boxes of fruit gelatin and handed them to the young men. Then all eyes were moist. All knew the true meaning of giving, and none would ever forget that at Christmas the greatest gift of all was given.

December 18

Teach the Children

Especially for Mormons, Vol. 2

Just a week before Christmas, I had a visitor, this is how it happened. I had just finished the household chores and was preparing to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door of the front room, and to my surprise, Santa Claus himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed his fingers over his mouth so I would not cry out.

“What are you doing…?” I started to ask, but the words choked up in my throat as I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone – gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know.

He then answered me with a simple statement of “Teach the children.” I was puzzled. What did he mean? He anticipated my question and with one quick movement brought for a miniature toy bag from behind the tree. As I stood there bewildered, Santa said again, “Teach the children. Teach them the old meaning of Christmas – the meanings that Christmas nowadays has forgotten.”

I started to say, “How can I…” when Santa reached into the toy bag and pulled out a brilliant shiny star.

“Teach the children that the star was the heavenly sign of promise long ages ago. God promised a Savior for the world and the star was a sign of the fulfillment of that promise. The countless shining stars at night – one for each man – now show the burning hope of all mankind.” Santa gently laid the star upon the fireplace mantle and drew forth from the bag a glittering red Christmas tree ornament.

“Teach the children red is the first color of Christmas. It was first used by the faithful people to remind them of the blood which was shed for all the people by the Savior. Christ gave His life and shed His blood that every man might have God’s gift of Eternal Life. Red is deep, intense, vivid – it is the greatest color of all. It is the symbol of the gift of God.”

“Teach the children,” he said as he dislodged a small Christmas tree from the depths of the toy bag. He placed it before the mantle and gently hung the red ornament on it. The deep green of the fir tree was a perfect background for the ornament. Here was the second color of Christmas.

“The pure green color of the stately fir tree remains green all year round,” he said. “This depicts the everlasting hope of mankind. Green is the youthful, hopeful, abundant color of nature. All the needles point heavenward – symbols of Man’s returning thoughts toward heaven. The great green tree has been man’s best friend. It has sheltered him, warmed him, made beauty for him.” Suddenly, I heard a soft tinkling sound.

“Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of the bell, it should ring for man to return them to fold – it means guidance and return. It further signifies that all are precious in the eyes of the Lord.” As the soft sound of the bell faded into the night, Santa drew forth a candle, He placed it on the mantle and the soft glow from its tiny flame cast a glow about the darkened room. Odd shapes in shadows slowly danced and weaved upon the walls.

“Teach the children,” whispered Santa, “that the candle shows man’s thanks for the star of long ago. Its small light is the mirror of starlight. At first, candles were placed on the trees – they were like many glowing stars shining against the dark green. The colored lights have now taken of in remembrance.”

Santa turned the small Christmas tree lights on and picked up a gift from under the tree. He pointed to the large bow and said, “A bow is placed on a present to remind us of the spirit of brotherhood of man. We should remember that the bow is tied as men should be tied, all of us together, with the bonds of good will toward each other. Good will forever is the message of the bow.”

Santa slung his bag over his shoulder and began to reach for the candy cane placed high on the tree. He unfastened it and reached out toward me with it.

“Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherd’s crook. The crook on the staff helps bring back the strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane represents the helping hand we should show at Christmas time. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brothers’ keepers.”

As Santa looked about the room, a feeling of satisfaction shone on his face. He read wonderment in my eyes, and I am sure he sensed admiration for this night.

He reached into his bag and brought forth a large holly wreath. He placed it on the door and said, “Please teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the eternal nature love; it never ceases, stops or ends. It is the one continuous round of affection. The wreath does double duty. It is made of many things and in many colors. It should remind us of all the things of Christmas. Please, teach the children.”

December 19 (part 1)

The Faded, Blue Blanket

By Fred Bauer

The most frightened shepherd that night was little Ladius, just ten. He cowered behind his three older brothers when the blinding star lit the hillside. When the angel appeared, he hid behind a huge rock.

Yet after Ladius heard the glad news, fear left him; and he limped back to his brothers who were planning to set out for Bethlehem.

“Who will tend the sheep?” asked Samuel, the oldest at 16.

Ladius, leaning against his shepherd’s crook to support a crippled foot, volunteered. “I’d only slow you down. Let me stay with the sheep.” He bit his lower lip as he talked. The brothers weakly protested, then made plans to go.

“We must each take a gift,” said Samuel.

One brother chose his flint to start a fire for the Christ Child. Another picked meadow lilies to make a garland for the King. Samuel decided on his most precious possession, his golden ring.

“Here, take my blanket to Him,” said Ladius. It was badly worn – faded with patches.

“No, Ladius,” said Samuel, tenderly. “The blanket is too tattered to give even a beggar – let alone a King. Besides, you will need it tonight.”

The brothers departed, leaving Ladius alone by the fire. He laid his head upon the blanket and buried his face in his hands. Tears forced their way between his fingrs, but soon the hush of night soothed the boy’s heartbreak. The world in silent stillness lay…

“Are you coming, Ladius?” called a voice. Standing nearby was the same angel who had brought the news. “You wanted to see the Child, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” nodded Ladius, “but I must stay here.”

“My name is Gabriel,” said the angel. “Your sheep will be watched. Take my hand – and bring your blanket. The Child may need it.”

Suddenly, Ladius was outside the stable. Kneeling by a manger were his brothers. Ladius started to call out, but the angel lifted a finger to his lips.

“Give me the blanket,” Gabriel whispered. The angel took it and quietly covered the Baby. But the blanket was no longer faded. Now it glistened like dew in the brilliance of a new day.

Returning, Gabriel squeezed Ladius’ hand.

“Your gift was the best because you gave all you had…”

“Wake up, Ladius, wake up.” The boy rubbed his eyes and tried to shield them from the glaring sun. Hovering over him was Samuel.

“Did you find Him?” asked Ladius.

“Yes,” smiled Samuel, “but first, tell me why you were sleeping without your blanket.”

Ladius looked about wonderingly. The faded, blue blanket was nowhere to be found – then or thereafter.

December 19 (part 2)

The Tin Soldier and the Ballerina

Once upon a time, there lived a little tin soldier. Even though he had been made just like all the other tin soldiers, he had a heart and feelings. Here is the extraordinary story of his adventures.

There once lived a child who had a lot of toys. The child kept his toys in his room and spent many happy hours everyday playing with them. One of his favorite games was the battle with the tin soldiers. He arranged the little toy soldiers in their respective ranks and fought imaginary battles.

When the boy received the soldiers, as a present he noticed that one of them had been made, by mistake, with just one leg. Despite the missing limb, the boy placed the little mutilated soldier in the front lines, encouraging him to be the most valorous of all the little soldiers. The child did not know that, at night, the toys became animated and talked between themselves.

It often happened that, when lining up the soldiers after playing with them, the little boy would forget about the little tin soldier without a leg and left him with all the other toys. It was thus that the little metal soldier got to talk to a pretty tin ballerina.

A great friendship was born between the two, and pretty soon, the little soldier fell in love with the ballerina. But the nights went by quickly, and he did not find the courage to declare his love to her. When the child played with the soldiers and positioned him in the front lines, the little soldier hoped that the ballerina would notice his courage in battle. And in the evening, when the ballerina asked the soldier if he had been afraid, he proudly answered, “No.”

But the loving stares and sighs of the little soldier did not go unnoticed by the jack-in-the-box. One night, the jack-in-the-box said to the little soldier. “Hey, you! Don’t look at the ballerina like that!” The poor little soldier was confused and he blushed but the kind ballerina cheered him up.

“Don’t listen to him, he is ugly and jealous. I am very happy to talk to you,” she said blushing too. The two little tin figurines were both too shy to speak of their love.

One day they were separated. The boy picked up the tin soldier and placed him on the window-sill.

“You stay here and watch the enemy,” he said. Then the boy played inside with the other soldiers.

It was summer and in the days that followed the soldier remained on the window-sill. But one afternoon there was a sudden storm and a strong wind shook the windows. The little soldier fell head first off the window-sill. His bayonet stuck into the ground. It kept raining and storming and pretty soon the rain formed big puddles and the gutters were full. A group of boys in the nearby school waited for the storm to end and when it stopped raining hard they ran outdoors.

Joking and laughing, the boys hopped over the bigger puddles while two of them cautiously walked next to the wall so that the sprinkling rain wouldn’t wet them. These two boys noticed the little tin soldier stuck in the sodden earth.

“Too bad he has just one leg. Otherwise, I’d take him home with me,” one of the boys said. The other boy picked him up and put him in his pocket.

“Let’s take him anyway,” he said. “We could use him for something.” On the other side of the street, the gutter was over flowing and the current carried a little paper boat.

“Let’s put the little soldier in the boat and make him a sailor,” said the boy who had picked up the tin soldier. And so the little soldier became a sailor

The whirling gutter flowed into a sewer and the little boat was carried down the drain. The water in the underground sewage was deep and muddy. Big rats gnashed their teeth as the vessel and its unusual passenger flowed by. The boat was soaked and about to sink. But, the little soldier, who had faced far greater dangers in battle, was not afraid. The water of the sewer then flowed into the river and the little boat, now overturned, was swept by the high waves. The little tin solder realized his end was near. After the paper boat was wrecked, he sank in deep waters. A thousand thoughts went through the little soldier’s mind, but one in particular anguished him.

“I will never see my sweet little ballerina again!” But a huge mouth swallowed the little tin soldier and, once again, his destiny took an unexpected turn.

The little soldier found himself in the stomach of a large fish who had been lured by the glittering colors of his uniform. The fish, however, did not even have time to digest his meal because, shortly after having swallowed the soldier, he was caught in the net of a fisherman. Shortly after, the gasping fish ended up in a big basket and was brought to the market.

Meanwhile, a cook was on her way to the market. She worked in the very same house where the little soldier used to live.

“This fist will be perfect for tonight’s guests,” the cook said when she saw the big fish on the fish market’s counter. The fish ended up in the kitchen and when the cook slit its belly to clean it she found the little tin soldier.

“This looks like on of our boy’s toy soldiers…” she thought, and ran to the boy to show him her discovery.

“That’s right, it is my soldier!” the little boy cheered, when he recognized the soldier with the missing leg.

“I wonder how he got into the fish’s belly. Poor soldier, he must have gone through a lot of trouble since he fell of the window-sill!” The little boy placed the soldier on the mantle, right next to his sister’s ballerina.

The amazing ways of destiny had once again reunited the two. The little soldier and the ballerina were very happy to be close to each other. At night they talked about what had happened after their separation. But the ill disposition of fate had another surprise in store for them.

One day a sudden gust of wind lifted the heavy drape of the window and hit the ballerina, who fell into the fireplace. The little soldier saw his friend fall into the fireplace and he was frightened. He knew a fire was lit because he could feel its warmth. He was desperate, conscious of not being able to do anything to save the ballerina. In fact, fire is the greatest enemy of tin figurines because it melts metals. Rocking back and forth on his one leg, the little soldier tried to move the metal base under his foot that held him in place.

He kept trying to move until he fell into the fire as well. The two figurines were reunited in their misfortune. They were so close to each other now, that their metal bases began melting together. The tin of one base melted with the metal of the other, and the metal strangely molded into the shape of a heart. As their bodies were about to begin melting as well, the little boy went by the fireplace and saw the two little figurines enveloped by the flames and moved them away from the blaze with his foot.

Ever since then the soldier and the ballerina have been melted close to each other, sharing their destiny and a common base shaped like a heart.

December 20 (part 1)

Christmas Day in the Morning

By Pearl S. Buck

He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.

Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.

"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."

"Well, you can't, Adam." His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."

"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."

When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.

Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up.

And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought him something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.

He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had semed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.

"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"

"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."

Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come...

The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he musn't sleep too sound.

He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match to look each time to look at his old watch -- midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.

At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them, too.

He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk-house, filled.

"What the--," he could hear his father exclaiming.

He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.

The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.

Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.

"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."

"Aw-right," he said sleepily.

The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.

The minutes were endless -- ten, fifteen, he did not know how many -- and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.

"Rob!"

"Yes, Dad--"

His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh.

"Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.

"It's for Christmas, Dad!"

He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.

"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"

"Oh, Dad, I want you to know -- I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.

He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.

"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."

They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.

This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was.

It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love...

Such a happy, happy Christmas!

December 20 (part 2)

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 Christmas, 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, grey 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 Christmas 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 Christmas chimes, you see, and were not meant to be played by men or on common days. It was the custom on Christmas 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 Christmas 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 Christmas 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 Christmas chimes, but they had heard of the service in the church on Christmas 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 Christmas 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 Christmas 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 Christmas 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 Christmas 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.