Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas

Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas

by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

Jimmy Scarecrow led a sad life in the winter. Jimmy's greatest grief was his lack of occupation. He liked to be useful, and in winter he was absolutely of no use at all.

He wondered how many such miserable winters he would have to endure. He was a young scarecrow, and this was his first one. He was strongly made, and, although his wooden joints creaked a little when the wind blew, he did not grow in the least rickety. Every morning, when the wintry sun peered like a hard, yellow eye across the corn stubble, Jimmy felt sad, but at Christmas time his heart nearly broke.

On Christmas Eve Santa Claus came in his sledge, heaped high with presents, urging his team of reindeer across the field. He was on his way to the farmhouse where Betsey lived with her Aunt Hannah.

Betsey was a very good little girl with very smooth yellow curls, and she had a great many presents. Santa Claus had a large wax doll-baby for her on his arm, tucked against the fur collar of his coat. He was afraid to trust it in the pack, lest it get broken.

When poor Jimmy Scarecrow saw Santa Claus his heart gave a great leap.

“Santa Claus! Here I am!” he cried out, but Santa Claus did not hear him.

“Santa Claus, please give me a little present. I was good all summer and kept the crows out of the corn,” pleaded the poor scarecrow, but Santa Claus passed by with a merry hallooo and a great clamor of bells.

The Jimmy Scarecrow stood in the corn stubble and shook with sobs until his joints creaked.

“I am of no use in the world, and everybody has forgotten me,” he moaned. But he was mistaken.

The next morning Betsey sat at the window holding her Christmas doll-baby, and looked out at Jimmy Scarecrow standing alone in the field amidst the corn stubble.

“Aunt Hannah?” she said. Aunt Hannah was making a crazy patchwork quilt, and she frowned hard at a triangular piece of red silk and circular piece of pink, wondering how to fit them together.

“Well?” she said.

“Did Santa Claus bring the scarecrow any Christmas present?”

“No, of course he didn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's a scarecrow. Don't ask silly questions.”

“I wouldn't like to be treated so, if I were a scarecrow,” said Betsey, but her Aunt Hanah did not hear her. She was busy cutting a triangular snip out of the round piece of pink silk so the red silk could be featherstitched into it.

It was snowing hard out-of-doors, and the north wind blew. The scarecrow's poor old coat got whiter and whiter with snow. Sometimes he almost vanished in the thick white storm. Aunt Hannah worked until the middle of the afternoon on her crazy quilt. The she got up and spread it over the sofa with an air of pride.

“There,” she said, “that's done, and that makes the eighth. I've got one for every bed in the house, and I've given four away. I'd give this away if I knew of anybody that wanted it.”

Aunt Hannah put on her hood and shawl, and drew some blue yarn stockings on over her shoes, and set out through the snow to carry a slice of plum pudding to her sister Susan, who lived down the road. Half an hour after Aunt Hannah had gone, Betsey put her little red plaid shawl over her head, and ran across the field to Jimmy Scarecrow. She carried her new doll-baby snuggled up under her shawl.

“wish you a Merry Christmas!” she said to Jimmy.

“Wish you the same,” said Jimmy, but his voice was choked with sobs, and was also muffled, for his old hat had slipped down over his chin. Betsey looked pityingly at the old hat fringed with icicles, like frozen tears, and the old snow-laden coat.

“I’ve brought you a Christmas present,” she said, and with that she tucked her new doll-baby inside Jimmy Scarecrow's coat, sticking its tiny feet into a pocket.

“Thank you,” said Jimmy Scarecrow faintly.

“You're welcome,” she said. “keep her under your overcoat, so the snow won't we her, and she won't catch cold. She's delicate.”

“Yes, I will,” said Jimmy Scarecrow, and he tried hard to bring one of his stiff, outstretched arms around to clasp the doll-baby.

“Don't you feel cold in that old summer coat?” asked Betsey.

“If I had a little exercise, I should be warm,” he replied. But he shivered, and the wind whistled through his rags.

“You wait a minute,” said Betsey, and she was off across the field.

Jimmy Scarecrow stood in the corn stubble, with the doll-baby under his coat, and waited, and soon Betsey was back again with Aunt Hannah's crazy quilt trailing in the snow behind her.

“here,” she said, “her is something to keep you warm,” and she folded the crazy guilt around the scarecrow and pinned it.

“Aunt Hannah wants to give it away if anybody wants it,” she explained. “She's got too many crazy quilts in the house now that she doesn't know what to do with. Good-by - be sure you keep the doll-baby covered up.” And with that she ran across the field, and left Jimmy Scarecrow alone with the crazy quilt and the doll-baby.

The bright flash of colors under Jimmy's hat brim dazzled his eyes, and he felt a little alarmed. “I hope this quilt is harmless if it is crazy,” he said. But the quilt was warm, and he dismissed his fears. Soon the doll-baby whimpered, but he creaked his joints a little, and that amused it, and he heard it cooing inside his coat.

Jimmy Scarecrow had never felt so happy in his life as he did for an hour or so. But after that the snow began to turn to rain, and the crazy quilt was soaked through and through, and not only that, but his coat and the poor doll-baby. It cried pitifully for a while, and then it was still, and he was afraid it was dead.

It grew very dark, and the rain fell in sheets, the snow melted, and Jimmy Scarecrow stood halfway up his old boots in water. He was saying to himself that the saddest hour of his life had come, when suddenly he again heard Santa Claus's sleigh bells and his merry voice talking to his reindeer. It was after midnight; Christmas was over, and Santa Claus was hastening home to the North Pole.

“Santa Claus! Dear Santa Claus!” cried poor Jimmy Scarecrow with a great sob, and that time Santa Claus heard him and drew rein.

“Who's there?” he shouted out of the darkness.

“It's only me,” replied the Scarecrow.

“Who's me?” shouted Santa Claus.

“Jimmy Scarecrow!”

Santa got out of his sledge and waded up.

“Have you been standing here ever since corn was ripe?” he asked pityingly, and Jimmy replied that he had.

'What's that over your shoulders?” Santa Claus continued, holding up his lantern.

“It''s a crazy quilt.”

“And what are you holding under your coat?”

“The doll-bay that Betsey gave me, and I'm afraid it's dead,” poor Jimmy Scarecrow sobbed.

“nonsense!” cried Santa Claus. “Let me see it!” And with that he pulled the doll-baby out from under the Scarecrow's coat, and patted its back, and shook it a little, and it began to cry, and then to crow. “it's all right,” said Santa Claus. “This is the doll-baby that I gave Betsey, and it is not alt all delicate. It want through the measles, and the chicken pox, and the mumps, and the whooping cough, before it left the North Pole. Now get into the sledge, Jimmy Scarecrow, and bring the doll-baby and the crazy quilt. I have never had any quilts that weren't in their right minds at the North Pole, but maybe I can cure this one. Get in!” Santa chirruped to his reindeer, and they drew the sledge up close in a beautiful curve.

“Get in, Jimmy Scarecrow, and come with me to the North Pole!” he cried.

“Please, how long shall I stay?” asked Jimmy Scarecrow.

“Why, you are going to live with me,” replied Santa Claus. “I've been looking for a person like you for along time.”

“Are there any crows to scare at the North Pole? I want to be useful,” Jimmy Scarecrow said anxiously.

“No,” answered Santa Claus, “But I don't want you to scare away crows. I want you to scare away Arctic Explorers. I can keep you in work for a thousand years, and scaring away Arctic Explorers from the North Pole is much more important than scaring away crows from corn. Why, if they found the Pole, there wouldn't be a piece an inch long left in a week's time, and the earth would cave in like an apple without a core! They would whittle it all to pieces, and carry it away in their pockets for souvenirs. Come along; I am in a hurry.”

“I will go on two conditions,” said Jimmy. “First I want to make a present for aunt Hannah and Betsey, next Christmas.”

“You shall make any present you choose. What else?”

“I want some way provided to scare the crows out of the corn next summer, while I am away.”

“That is easily managed,” said Santa Claus. “Just wait a minute.”

Santa took his stylographic pen out of his pocket, went with his lantern close to one of the fence posts, and wrote these words upon it:

Notice to Crows

Whichever crow shall hereafter hop, fly, or flop into this field during the absence of Jimmy Scarecrow, and therefrom purloin, steal, or abstract corn, shall be instantly, in a twinkling and a thrice, turned snow-white and be ever after a disgrace, a byword, and a reproach to his whole race.

Per order of Santa Claus

“The corn will be safe now,” said Santa Claus; “get in.” Jimmy got into the sledge and they flew away over the fields, out of sight, with merry halloos and a great clamor of bells.

The next morning there was much surprise at the farmhouse, when aunt Hannah and Betsey looked out of the window and the Scarecrow was not in the field holding out his stiff arms over the corn stubble. Betsey had told Aunt Hannah she had given away the crazy quilt and the doll-baby, but had been scolded very little

“You must not give away anything of yours again without asking permission,” said Aunt Hannah. “And you have no right to give away anything of mine, even if you know I don't want it. Now both my pretty quilt and your beautiful doll-baby are spoiled.”

That was all that Aunt Hannah had said. She thought she would send John after the quilt and the doll-baby the next morning as soon as it was light.

But Jimmy Scarecrow was gone, and the crazy quilt and the doll-baby with him. John, the servant-man, searched everywhere, but not a trace of them could he find.

“they must have all blown away, mum,” he said to aunt Hannah.

“We shall have to have another scarecrow next summer,” said she.

But the next summer there was no need of a scarecrow, for not a crow came past the fence post on which Santa Claus had written his notice to the crows. The cornfield was never so beautiful, and not a single grain was stolen by a crow, and everyone wondered at it, for they could not read the crow-language in which Santa Claus had written.

“It is a great mystery to me why the crows don't come into our cornfield, when there is no scarecrow,” said Aunt Hannah.

But she had a still greater mystery to solve when Christmas came around again. Then she and Betsey each had a strange present. They found them in the sitting room on Christmas morning. Aunt Hannah's present was her old crazy quilt, remodeled, with every piece cut square and true, and matched exactly to its neighbor.

“Why it's my old crazy quilt, but it isn't crazy now!” cried Aunt Hannah, and her very spectacles seemed to glisten with amazement.

Betsey's present was her doll-baby of the Christmas before; but the doll was a year older. She had grown an inch, and could walk and say “mamma” and “How do?” She was changed a good deal, but Betsey knew her at once.

“It's my doll-baby!” she cried, and snatched her up and kissed her.

But neither Aunt Hannah nor Betsey ever knew that the quilt and doll were Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas presents to them.

The Christmas Bear

The Christmas Bear

by Lavinia R. Davis

Fritzie Apful hurried down the street with his hands in the pockets of his lederhosen. It was cold and a little damp and the air smelled as though snow was coming. Fritzie crinkled his short nose and sniffed. He loved snow. Even in a city it would be fun to have snow for Christmas. At home, in the Austrian Tyrol, it was the most beautiful and exciting thing in the world.

That last year before the war Fritzie had been at home in his Tyrolean mountain village. Just before Christmas he had helped his father ship off a box of wooden toys for sale in America. Now here he was in America himself.

America wasn't a bit the sort of place that he had imagined when they had skied down to the railroad station with packages of toys on their shoulders. This part of America was all tall buildings, and hurrying people, and narrow wind-swept streets that seemed colder than the snow mountains had ever seemed at home.

Fritzie turned up the collar of his short blue jacket and jerked down his Tyrolean felt hat. From his leather shorts to the gay feather in his hat he was dressed in his Tyrolean best. But here people stared as though it were a fancy-dress costume.

Fritzie turned down a side street. Now he was near Uncle Anton's violin shop. Already he could see the bright light of his window. Uncle Anton never pulled down his shade and sometimes a little crowd of boys watched him at work. Fritzie was glad that there was no one there tonight. Boys who laughed at his good clothes would laugh at Uncle Anton and Aunt Lena.

Uncle Anton opened the door for him, holding his violin in one hand. “You are just in time,” he said. “I am practicing the good Christmas music to play at your mother's tree, and while you work you shall be my audience.”

Fritzie kissed his aunt and then went over to Uncle Anton’s workbench and took down a cardboard shoe box. He lifted the cover and drew out a small bear carved out of wood. It was his own work, his Christmas present for his mother. In five more days it would be Christmas Eve and time for the family tree. In the meantime he had to finish his bear.

Fritzie rubbed the hard wood of the bear until began to shine with polishing. It was all finished but the paws. A square little bit of wood had chipped off and the paws were difficult. Perhaps Uncle would know what to do. The small, perfect bridges that he made for violins with squirrels or gnomes or a little leaf pattern had been famous in the Tyrol. Even in this country people valued him as an expert carver.

“Uncle,” Fritzie waited until Uncle laid down his violin. “Uncle, what can I do with the bear's paws? The wood is split. Could I mend it perhaps?”

Uncle Anton looked up. His blue eyes concentrated on the bear. “If there were something in the paws perhaps, something that a bear might have, you would not notice the chip.”

Fritzie studied the bear. What would a bear have in his paws? Honey or a honeycomb perhaps? That would be very difficult to carve.

Fritzie went out into the kitchen and Tante Lena gave him a big hug. “Ach, Fritzchen. You have come at just the right time. Surely you will chop the nuts for the Christmas cake?”

Fritzie nodded. Of course he would. At home everybody had a part in making the Christmas cake.

“What would a bear hold in his paws, Tante Lena?” he asked as he began work. “In his front paws when he was standing up straight?”

“There was a trained bear once in the Tyrol,” she said. “Your mother took you out to see it, do you remember?”

Fritzie's round, solemn face was suddenly divided by a smile. Of course he remembered. “He had an apple, Tante Lena,” Fritzie said. Of course it had been an apple. A bright red one, held against his black fur. An apple was the perfect thing. He could carve it separately and then glue it over the bear's paws.

Fritzie worked hard for the rest of the evening. Uncle played and Tante Lena cooked and Fritzie carved and thought about Christmas.

It was quite late when Fritzie went home with his cardboard box under his arm. He went past the big schoolhouse and suddenly he felt less warm, and comfortable, and at home than he had felt at Uncle Anton's. This was the place where the boys laughed at his clothes and joked over his name.

There were still people streaming out of the school doorway. It was the rehearsal for the Christmas play, Fritzie realized.

He nearly bumped into Andy Pierce who was coming down the steps. “Hello, Applecake,” Andy grinned. “What you got in the box?” Fritzie squirmed. He hated being called Applecake.

He didn't want to show Andy the bear a bit, but Andy almost pulled the box out of his hands. “Golly,” said Andy, “did you carve that bear?”

“Ya,” Fritzie said, and tried to pull away.

“Don't go.” Andy held on tight to the box. “You've got to enter this in the hobby show.”

Fritzie didn't want to do any such thing. He wasn't quite sure what a hobby show was. It sounded so very American, and he wasn't good at American things. And the bear with his little apple in his paws was very Austrian. The boys would laugh at him just the way they laughed at Fritzie.

But once Andy's mind was made up nothing could change it. “Come on,” he said. “You've got to enter it right now before Miss Keating leaves.”

“Oh, Fritzie, that's lovely,” Miss Keating murmured. “Please leave it right here. The judges are going to look over the things on Monday morning early and the prizes will be given out just before school closes for the holidays.”

Fritzie went to school very early on Monday feeling uncomfortable. Nobody would like his bear. They'd laugh at it and think it was foreign.

Fritzie had plenty of time to look at the hobby show before the judges came. At the very end of the hall was Fritzie's bear still with the apple in his paws. Fritzie wished that he could have taken the bear away and put him back in his shoe box. But it was too late.

Suddenly Fritzie had an idea. He looked around and then when no one was looking he grabbed the little card that said “Woodcarving by Fritz Apful” and crunched it up. If people didn't know who had made the bear, they couldn't laugh. Perhaps he could make Andy promise not to tell.

At assembly at the end of school Fritzie chuckled to himself. The headmaster was beginning to talk about he hobby show. Fritzie was glad that the headmaster couldn't know about the little Tyrolean bear. He watched Jimmy Ragan getting a prize for his radio and then he listened to the headmaster's voice announcing the next prize. “There was a wood carving,” the headmaster said, “that the judges agreed was the best thing in the show. Not only was it well made, but it had a genuine flavor all its own. It was really typical of the work done in the Tyrolean alps. Best of all was the signature.” He held up the bear for the school to see. “Look,” he said, pointing to the little apple in the bear's paws. “Here is the signature. Apple, Apful. Fritz Apful, come forward and get your prize.”

Somehow or other Fritz arrived at the platform and the headmaster gave him his bear and then his prize. It was a silver cup. A real silver cup that would shine proudly on his mother's mantel. The apple had given him the prize. The apple that was like his name that the boys had joked about.

Fritzie went back to is chair and the school clapped and clapped. “Good work, Applecake,” Andy Pierce said. “I thought you'd win, and I'm glad.” Fritzie looked at Andy. He had thought that Fritzie would win? He was glad? Fritzie was so surprised that he hardly heard Andy as he went on talking. “And say, Applecake, do you suppose we could go into your uncle's shop? Just to look at his tools, you know, and to watch him at work?”

Fritzie put the bear in his box. “We'd like to have you come to the shop,” he said.

The school began to stand up to sing, “Silent Night, Holy Night.”

Fritzie held on to his box while he sang. The school seemed suddenly as familiar and welcoming as Uncle Anton’s shop. And all because of the Christmas Bear.

The Three Kings

The Three Kings

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Three kings came riding from far away,

Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,

And they traveled by night and they slept by day,

For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large, and clear,

That all the other stars of the sky

Became a white mist in the atmosphere,

And by this they knew that the coming was near

Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddlebows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys;

Their robes were of crimson silk with rows

Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

With people they met at some wayside well.

“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,

“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;

For we in the East have seen his star,

And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews.”

And the people answered, “you ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!”

They thought the Wise Men were men insane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain,

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, “Go down into Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king.”

So they rode away; and the star stood still,

The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

the city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses turned

And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The child that would be kind one day

Of a kingdom not human but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest,

Watching the even flow of his breath,

For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King,

The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,

The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone;

Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

Remembering what the Angel had said

Of an endless rein and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

But they went not back to Herod the Great,

For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another way.

A Pinata For Pepita

A Pinata for Pepita

by Delia Goetz

It was the morning of Christmas Eve. In the tiny town of Willowville, which is so small that it isn't even a dot on the map, everyone was up early. For days now, the Christmas tree had stood straight and tall in the center of town. The tinsel and bright balls sparkled in the sunshine, and by night the many lights twinkled like fireflies.

Although Willowville was such a tiny town, it was one of the best possible places to spend Christmas. The reason was that everyone tried to make everyone else happy – which is a very good way to celebrate Christmas. And instead of having Christmas by themselves, all of the people had it together down around the great tree in the center of the town. So it belonged to everyone, and no one was left out.

But although the tree was finer than usual this year, and the decorations more gay, people were not really happy in Willowville on the morning of Christmas Eve. It was all because of Grandma Ward's granddaughter, five-year-old Pepita. When she came to stay with her grandmother a few weeks earlier, everyone agreed that she must have a very happy Christmas. Of course, grandchildren weren't unusual in Willowville at Christmas time. But this was an unusual grandchild.

First of all, there wasn't another grandchild named Pepita. It wasn't that she looked different from other grandchildren, except perhaps her eyes were very black and her hair as black as shiny coal. But the thing that made Pepita different was that she could speak English like everyone else in town, and she could speak Spanish, which no one else could speak. Her mother, whom everyone remembered as Emily Ward, had taught her English. But her father, who was Mexican, had taught her to speak Spanish. And because she had always lived in Mexico, she had never had a Christmas in Willowville.

Pepita like to talk, and people liked to talk to her. Sometimes she spoke English, and sometimes she spoke Spanish. Mostly people could guess what she meant and that made them feel as though they could speak Spanish, too. When passers-by said, “Good morning,” Pepita sometimes said, “Good morning,” but just as often she said “Buenos dias,” which is Spanish for the same thing. When she went into Mr. Green's grocery store and held out her hand with a penny in it and said, “I would like some dulces,” Grocer Green knew that she wanted candy. When she thanked him, she might say “Gracias,” or she might say, “Thank you.”

Everything went along very well, with Pepita speaking first one language, then another, until one day when Grandma Ward asked what she wanted for Christmas. “A pinata,” Pepita answered promptly.

“Is that a doll?”Asked her grandmother.

“No, it's just a pinata,” said Pepita.

“How big is it?' asked Grandmother.

“Very big,” said Pepita, “but it could be little, too.” And her grandmother was indeed confused.

Soon everyone in Willowville began trying to find out what a pinata was.

“What color is a pinata?” asked Mrs. Dean the next time she saw Pepita. “Muchos colors,” said Pepita.

And although Mrs. Dean knew she meant many colors, it didn't help her to know what a pinata was.

“Is a pinata candy?” asked Grocer Green the next time Pepita went to his store.

“Some of it is,” said Pepita.

“What is the rest of it?” he asked.

“Surprises,” said Pepita. And Grocer Green was as puzzled as the others.

Then miss Perkins, the librarian, who knew more words than anyone in Willowville, suddenly had an idea. “I think she means a pineapple,” she said. “I am sure that's what it is. Pinata sounds like pineapple!” And everyone was happy until they found a book and showed Pepita a picture of a pineapple. She looked at it carefully while everyone waited. Then she said, “Does it have nuts inside, too?” And they were right back where they had started.

When Pepita went to the Christmas party at school, the children asked her about the pinata. “Could we play with it, too?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes, you can have all of the dolls in it,” promised Pepita generously. And to Freddy she promised all of the automobiles and trucks. “There might be animals, too,” she said. And then they all tried to think what could be big or little, with part of it good to eat, have many colors, and have nuts and dolls and animals and automobiles and trucks. And wherever people stopped to talk in Willowville, they asked the same thing, “Have they found a pinata for Pepita?” And the answer was was always “No.”

That was why people were not as happy as usual, for they didn't want Pepita to be disappointed in her Christmas in Willowville.

But shortly after lunch, a very surprising thing happened. The fast train that usually sped through the tiny town with only a hoarse whistle of warning slowed down and actually stopped. Everyone looked to see who would get off. But no one did. Instead, out of the baggage car the brakeman handed down an enormous box, and on it was Pepita's name. Old Mr. Pipps, the station agent, hustled over to Grandma Ward's with the box, and everyone on the street followed him.

When Grandma Ward opened the box, there was a big bright green and blue parrot. It was made of clay, and was many times larger and ever so much heavier than a real one.

“What is it?” asked Grandma Ward.

“It's a pinata,” said Pepita, dancing around the box. “What do you do with it?” everyone asked together.

“You break it,” answered Pepita.

They shook their heads, and thought that surely she was wrong about that.

But everyone in Willowville was very excited, and when they stopped to talk, they said, “Did you hear? Pepita has a pinata.”

And when Grandma Ward took a better look at the pinata, she found a note tucked under the wing of the parrot. It was from Pepita's mother and daddy in Mexico, and they told Grandma Ward just what to do about a a pinata. And that night, when everyone was through with supper, they hurried over to Grandma Ward's house. There was the pinata hanging from a wire strung across the dining room. All the furniture was moved back, and they stood around in a circle.

Grandma Ward tied a scarf around Pepita's eyes, and told her to point to someone. It was a little like playing “pin the tail on the donkey.”

Pepita pointed straight ahead and right at Grocer Green. Grandma Ward took the blind from Pepita's eyes and tied it around Grocer Green's eyes. Then she handed him a long stick and told him to see if he could hit the pinata. He drew back the stick as though he were going to bat a ball. He struck first to one side and then the other, and straight ahead. He struck so fast and so hard that the others had to dodge quickly to keep out of his way. He almost hit the window and did hit the wall with thud, but never once came near the pinata.

Miss Perkins tried next. Grandma Ward was ready to tie the blind around her eyes when Miss Perkins remembered that she had on her best pair of spectacles. Just then Mr. Pipps started to cross the room and Miss Perkins hit him right on the back, but not very hard. Then, because she was afraid of hitting someone else, she hardly tried at all, and, of course, she didn't hit the pinata. Mr. Pipps and Mrs. Dean didn't have any better luck, and neither did any of the others.

Then it was Dorothy's turn to try to hit the pinata. She stood near it and didn't move, even when the stick went swishing through the air without striking anything. She waited a minute, took a firm hold on the stick with both hands, then struck out as hard as she could. There was the sound of tearing paper and breaking pottery, and a shower of many things falling from the pinata. Peanuts and candy hit Mr. Pipp's bald head and bounced off. A tiny bright red automobile struck Freddy's shoulder. Soon everyone was scrambling to pick up the candy and nuts and toys that fell from the pinata. Such laughing and shouting and pushing until every last thing had been picked up. Dorothy took the blind from her eyes in time to catch two dolls.

And when they pulled back the chairs and the sofa and sat down, they looked at Grandma Ward, and all burst into shouts of laughter. For there, perched high in the knot of her hair on top of her head was a tiny toy monkey with very bright eyes. She took it out carefully and gave it to Pepita.

After they had eaten all of the good things from the pinata and the big chocolate cake which Grandma Ward brought out, they got ready to go home. To some of them Pepita said “Buenos noches,” and to some she said “Good night,” but it all means the same thing.

And that night Pepita was happy, and Willowville was happy, because there had been a pinata for Pepita.

The Christmas Sleigh Ride

The Christmas Sleigh ride

By Carolyn Haywood

A few days before Christmas Father said that he had a surprise for Betsy.

Betsy shouted, “I bet I know! It's a sleigh ride!”

“Yes,” said Father. “If the snow lasts, I have arranged for a sleighing party. It will be on Christmas Eve. You can invite five of the children from school.”

“Oh, Father!” cried Betsy, “it's wonderful! Will we go sleighing in the park?”

“Yes,” said Father, “in the park.”

Betsy invited Billy and Ellen and Christopher, Mary Lou and Peter. They were just as excited as Betsy was.

Betsy told the children about Father's sleigh ride when he was a little boy. She also told them about Father's dream.

“Oh, boy!” said Billy. “I wish I could go sleigh riding with Santa Claus, the way your father did.”

When Christmas Eve arrived, the snow was packed hard on the roads. It was so hard and frozen that it was shiny and made a squeaky noise. The night was clear and the stars seemed brighter than ever to Betsy.

By seven o'clock the children were all at Betsy's house. Father put them into the car and drove them to a livery stable near the park. In front of the stable there was a big sleigh with two horses. The sleigh had a high seat for the driver and two wide seats behind that faced each other.

“Now, Billy and Ellen can ride with the driver first,” said Father. “Then Christopher and Mary Lou can have a turn, and on the way back Peter and Betsy can ride up front.”

This satisfied the children and they scrambled into the sleigh. Father tucked the rugs around them. The horses stamped their feet and shook their heads. The sleigh bells jingled.

“Are you going to drive the sleigh, Father?” asked Betsy.

“Oh, my, no!” said Father, as he climbed into the back seat beside Betsy. “The driver will be here in a moment.”

“I wish we were going for a sleigh ride with Santa Claus, the way you did in your dream,” said Billy.

No sooner had Billy said this than the door of the stable opened. Who should walk out but Santa Claus! He was wearing a bright red suit and cap trimmed with fur and he had on high black boots. The sleigh bells around his waist jingled as he walked.

“Hello, boys and girls!” he shouted. “So you're going for a ride with me tonight!”

The children could hardly believe their eyes. They were speechless as Santa Claus climbed up into the driver's seat and took the reins in his hands.

“Gee up!” said Santa Claus to the horses.

The sleigh started with a lurch. They were off!

Billy was the first to find his tongue. He said, “Are you really Santa Claus?'

“Sure, me boy, I'm his twin brother,” replied Santa Claus, “and just as good. He'd 'a' come himself but he's having a big night tonight getting up and down chimneys.”

“Do you live at the North Pole?” asked Mary Lou.

“Not me!” said Santa Claus. “It's too cold. My whiskers freeze.”

“Don't you have to help your brother on Christmas Eve?” asked Christopher.

“No,” replied Santa Claus, “I never was any good getting up and down chimneys. Always seemed sort of roundabout to me, but me brother's all for it. Did it even as a little fellow. Never would come in through the door like other folks. It was the chimney for him from the first.”

The children laughed very hard and asked a great many questions. They were driving through the park now. It was very quiet. There was no sound but the sound of the sleigh bells. Betsy looked up at the tall trees. The stars peeped between the branches and winked at her. In the distance she could hear other sleigh bells. She burrowed down into the warm rugs and held Father's hand. She felt all happy inside. Betsy hadn't known that a sleigh ride could be so wonderful.

“Let's sing 'Jingle Bells,'” shouted Billy.

They all sang.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells,

Jingle all the way.

Oh, what fun it is to ride

In a one-horse open sleigh.”

“Let's sing, 'Two-horse open sleigh,' “said Christopher. “Because that is what this sleigh is.”

So they they all sang, “Oh, what fun it is to ride in a two horse open sleigh.”

All of a sudden the horses changed their gait. The sleigh jolted and Billy toppled right off the front seat. He went head first into a big snowdrift.

“Whoa!” cried Santa Claus, as he pulled up the horses.

The sleigh stopped and Betsy's father jumped down. He ran back to Billy. The children turned around to see where Billy was. All that they could see were two legs covered with dark green snow pants sticking out of the snowdrift. The legs were kicking furiously.

In a moment Father had pulled Billy out. He looked very much like the snow man in Betsy's garden.

Father brushed him off and they ran back to the sleigh.

“I fell out,” said Billy, when he reached the sleigh.

“You don't mean to tell me!” said Santa clause. “Sure, and I thought you were practicing diving.”

The children changed places in the sleigh. Christopher and Mary Lou sat up with Santa Claus while Billy and Ellen took seats in the back of the sleigh.

“It's funny,” said Christopher to Santa Claus, “but you talk just like Mr. Kilpatrick.”

“Yes, you do,” cried the rest of the children, “just exactly like Mr. Kilpatrick.”

“And who may Mr. Kilpatrick be?” asked Santa.

“Mr. Kilpatrick is the policeman who takes us across the street,” said Betsy.

“Oh, that fellow!” shouted Santa Claus. “Sure, I've seen him often. He's got a face like a dish of turnips and hair the color of carrots.”

The children laughed. “I don't think it's nice of you to talk about Mr. Kilpatrick that way,” said Ellen.

“Sure, there's nobody with a better right,” said Santa Claus.

“I think you are Mr. Kilpatrick,” said Mary Lou.

“Kilpatrick! What a name!” said Santa Claus. “Upon my word, I've killed flies and I've killed mosquitoes and one or two centipedes, but never have I killed any Patrick.”

The children shouted with laughter.

By this time the sleigh had reached a house. It stood by the road under tall trees. Lights shone from the windows. It was an old inn.

Santa Claus stopped the sleigh and everyone climbed down. A boy in the yard led the horses to a shed nearby. He put blankets over them.

Santa Claus led the way into the inn. There was a fire roaring the fireplace.

Betsy's eyes were as big as saucers. “Why, Father, it's just like your dream when you were a little boy,” she said.

In front of the fireplace there was a table. They all sat down at the table. Santa Claus sat at the head of the table.

“Are we going to have something to eat?” asked Billy.

We certainly are,” said Santa Claus. “What do you want to eat, Billy?”

“Hot dogs,” shouted Billy at the top of his voice.

“Yes, hot dogs!” shouted all of the children except Betsy. She was laughing so hard she couldn't say anything. At last she said, “Oh, Father!” and she began laughing again. “Do you remember the hot dogs in your dream?”

Father laughed, too. “Yes,” he said, “I remember.”

After the children had eaten their hot dogs and drunk big cups of cocoa, they went out to the sleigh. They felt all warmed up.

When they were settled, with Betsy and Peter on the front seat with Santa Claus, they started for home.

“Jingle, jingle, jingle,” went the sleigh bells. “Trot, trot, trot,” went the horses' feet.

Santa Claus joked with the children all the way back to the stable. There the children climbed out. They all shook hands with Santa Claus and thanked him for the lovely sleigh ride.

As they got into Father's car, they cried, “Good night, Santa Claus! Good night and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” shouted Santa Claus. “Remember me to Mr. Kilpatrick!”

“Sure!” shouted Billy. “Remember me to your twin brother.”

Father dropped the children off, one by one, at their homes.

“Good night!” they each called. “Thank you and a Merry Christmas!”

When Betsy kissed Father good night, she said, “Father, was Santa Claus Mr. Kilpatrick?”

Father laughed. “Well, what do you think?” he said.

Saint Nicholas in Holland

Saint Nicholas in Holland

from Hans Brinker by Mary Mapes Dodge

It is said that Saint Nicholas originally came from Holland. There, he visits earth on the fifth of December, the eve of Saint Nicholas Day. Early on the morning of the sixth, he distributes his candies, treasures, and toys, then vanishes for a year.

Christmas day is devoted by the Hollanders to church rites and to pleasant family visiting. It is on Saint Nicholas' Eve that their young people become half wild with joy and expectation. To some of them it is a sorry time, for the saint is very candid, and if any of them have been bad during the past year, he is quite sure to tell them so.

Hilda van Gleck's little brothers and sisters were in a high state of excitement that night. They had been admitted into the grand parlor, and they were dressed in their best. Hilda was as joyous as any. She laughed and advanced as gaily as the youngest, and was the soul of all their merry games. At last matters grew so uproarious that Mynheer van Gleck regarded his children with astonishment. Madame suggested that if they wished to see the good Saint Nicholas they should sing the same loving invitation that had brought him the year before.

The children, each holding a pretty willow basket, formed at once in a ring, and moved slowly around. Madame commenced playing softly upon the piano; soon the voices rose in song.

“Welcome, friend! Saint Nicholas, welcome!” During the chorus, glances, half in eagerness, half in dread, were cast at the polished folding doors. Now a loud knocking was heard. The circle was broken in an instant. Some of the little ones, with a strange mixture of fear and delight, pressed against their mothers.

“come in,” said Madame softly.

The door slowly opened and Saint Nicholas stood before them. He was in full array, with his embroidered robes glittering with gems and gold, his mitre, his crozier, and his jeweled gloves. You could have heard a pin drop! Soon he spoke. What a mysterious majesty in his voice! What kindliness in his tones!

“Karel van Gleck, I am pleased to greet thee, and thy honored vrouw Kathrine, and thy son and his good vrouw Annie!

“Children, I greet ye all! Good children ye have been, in the main, since I last accosted ye. Diedrich, I trust, will continue to be a polite, manly boy, and Mayken will endeavor to shine as a student. Let her remember, too, that economy and thrift are needed in the foundation of a worthy and generous life. Little Katy has been cruel to the cat more than once. Saint Nicholas can hear the cat cry when its tail is pulled. I will forgive her if she will remember from this hour that the smallest dumb creatures have feelings and must not be abused.”

As little Katy burst into a frightened cry, the saint graciously remained silent until she was soothed.

“thou, Hendrick, didst distinguish thyself in the archery match last spring and didst hit the bull's eye, though the bird was swung before it to unsteady thine eye. I give thee credit for excelling in manly sport and exercise.

“Lucretia and Hilda shall have a blessed sleep tonight. The consciousness of much kindness to the poor, devotion in their souls, and cheerful, hearty obedience to household rule will render them happy.

“With one and all I avow myself well content. Goodness, industry, benevolence, and thrift have prevailed in your midst. Therefore, my blessings upon you, and may the New Year find all treading the paths of obedience, wisdom, and love. Tomorrow you shall find more substantial proofs that I have been in your midst. Farewell!”

With these words came a great shower of sugarplums. The children fairly tumbled over each other in their eagerness to fill their baskets. The bravest of the youngest sprang up and burst open the closed doors. In vain they peered into the mysterious apartment. Saint Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

Soon there was a general rush to another room, where stood a long table. Each child, in a flutter of excitement, laid a shoe upon it. The door was then carefully locked and its key hidden in the mother's bedroom. Next followed good-night kisses, merry farewells at bedroom doors, and silence at last, reigned in the Van Gleck mansion.

Early the next morning the door was solemnly unlocked and opened in the presence of the assembled household; when, lo! A sight appeared, proving Saint Nicholas to be a saint of his word!

Every shoe was filled to overflowing and beside each stood many a colored pile. The table was heavy with its load of presents, candies, toys, trinket,s books.

Little Katy clapped her hands with glee and vowed, inwardly, that the cat should never know another moment's grief.

Hendrick capered gaily about the room, flourishing a superb bow and arrows over his head. Hilda laughed with delight as she opened a crimson box and drew forth its glittering contents. The rest chuckled and said, “Oh!” and “Oh!” over their treasures.

With her glittering necklace in her hands and a pile of books in her arms, Hilda stole toward her parents and held up her beaming face for a kiss.

“I am delighted with this book, thank you, Father.” she said, touching the top one with her chin.

Frolic and joy reigned supreme.

The Fir Tree

The Fir Tree

Retold from Hans Christian Andersen

Once upon a time there was a pretty, little green Fir Tree. The sun shone on him; he had plenty of fresh air, and around him grew many large comrades, pines as well as firs. But the little Fir was not satisfied. He did not think of the large sun and the fresh air. He wanted to be a big tree like the others.

Sometimes the little children living in the cottages nearby came into the woods to play. “What a nice little fir!” they said. But the Tree did not like to hear them talk this way. He did not like to be called 'Little.”

By the time he was a year old he had grown a good deal. Another year passed and he was another long bit taller. “Oh, if I were only as tall as the other tress,” he thought. “Then I could spread out my branches and look out into the wide world. The birds would build nests in my branches; and when there was a breeze I could bend with a stately bow jut like the others.”

The Tree sighed, taking no pleasure in the sunbeams and the birds and the red clouds, which morning and evening sailed above him.

In the wintertime, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would often come leaping along. Sometimes he jumped right over the little Tree, and that made him very angry. But by the third winter the Tree had grown so large the hare had to go around it. That made the Tree feel better. “The most delightful thing in the world,” he thought, “is to grow and grow and be tall and old.”

In autumn the woodcutters came and cut down some of the largest trees. This happened every year and the little Fir Tree, which was not so little any more, was frightened. How he trembled as the magnificent trees fell to the earth with a great noise. After the branches had been lopped off, the trees looked so long and bare that it was hard to recognize them. They they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the woods.

“What becomes of them?” the Fir Tree wondered.

In spring, when the Swallows and the Storks came, the Tree said to them, “Do you know where they have been taken?”

The Swallows didn't know anything about it, but one of the Storks nodded his head thoughtfully, “I think I know,” he said. “As I was flying hither from Egypt, I met many ships with tall masts and they smelled of fir. You may feel proud of them, so majestic did they look.”

“If I were only old enough to fly across the ocean!” sighed the Tree. “How does the ocean look?”

“That would take a long time to explain,” said the Stork, and off he flew.

“Rejoice in thy youth!” said the sunbeams. “Rejoice in thy growth!” And the Wind kissed the Tree, the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir did not understand.

When Christmas came, many young trees were cut down. Their branches were left on them when they were laid on the carts, and the horses drew them out of the woods.

“They are no taller than I,”complained the Fir Tree. “Indeed one of them was much shorter. Why are they allowed to keep all their branches? Where are they going?”

“We know! We know!” twittered the Sparrows. “We have peeped in at the windows in the town below! We saw the trees planted in the middle of the warm rooms and ornamented with the most splendid things - with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with toys and hundred of lights!:

A tremor ran through the Fir Tree. “And then? What happens after that?”

“We did not see anything more, but it was very beautiful.”

“Ah, perhaps I shall know the same magnificence some day,” the Tree rejoiced. “If Christmas would only come! I am as tall as the trees that were carried off last year. Oh, if I were only on the cart now! If I were only in the warm room with all the splendor! Something better, something still grander, is sure to follow – but what? How long, how I suffer! I wonder what is the matter with me!”

“Rejoice in us!” said the Air and the Sunlight. “Rejoice in thy own youth!”

But the Tree did not rejoice. He grew and grew. He was green both in winter and summer. “What a fine tree!” people said, and toward Christmas he was one of the first to be cut down The ax struck deep, and the Tree fell to earth with a sigh. He was not happy; he could only think how sad it was to be taken away from the place where he had sprung up. He knew that never again would he see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him; perhaps he would never even see the birds again. And he didn't like it at all.

The Tree was laid on a cart with several others and taken away. When he came to himself again, he was being unloaded in a big yard, and two servants in handsome livery carried him into a beautiful drawing room. The fir tree was stuck upright in a tub filled with sand' but it did not look like a tub, for green cloth was hung all around it and it stood on a large bright carpet.

A tremor ran through the Tree What was going to happen? Several young ladies decorated it, aided by the servants. On one branch they hung little nets made of colored paper and filled with sugarplums. On the other boughs they hung gilded apples and walnuts which looked as though they had grown there. Then little blue and white and red candles were fastened to the branches. Among the foliage there were dolls which looked like people, the Tree had never seen anything like them before, and at the very top there was a large star of gold tinsel. It was really splendid, too splendid for any words to describe.

“Just wait till evening!” everybody said. “How the Tree will shine this evening!”

“Oh, if evening would only come!” thought the Tree. “If the candles were only lighted! What will happen then, I wonder. Will the other trees from the forest come to look at me? Will the Sparrows beat against the window panes? Perhaps I shall take root and stand here winter and summer covered with ornaments!” He grew so impatient that he got a pain in his bark, and this with trees is the same as a headache with us.

When at last the candles were lighted, there was such brightness,such splendor, the Tree trembled in every bough. One of the candles set fire to the foliage, and it blazed up splendidly.

“Help! Help!” cried the young ladies and rushed to put out the fire.

After that the Tree did not dare tremble. He was quite bewildered by the glare and the brightness. Suddenly both the folding doors opened and in rushed the children, with the older persons following more quietly. The little ones stood quite still, but only for a moment. Then they shouted for joy, and the room echoed with their shouts. They began dancing around the tree, pulling off one present after another.

“What are they doing?” thought the Tree. “what is to happen now?”

The candles burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were put out, one after another. Then the children were given permission to plunder the Tree, and they rushed upon it so violently that all its branches cracked Then the children went on playing with their beautiful toys. No one even looked at the Tree, except the old nurse, who peeped in among the branches to see if there was a fig or an apple that had been overlooked.

“A story! A story!” the children cried, dragging a little fat man over toward the Tree. He sat down under it and said, “Now the Tree can listen, too. I shall tell you only one story, so which will you have: the one about Ivedy-Avedy, or the one about Klumpy-Dumpy who fell downstairs and yet married the princess and came to the throne after all?”

“Ivedy-Avedy!” cried some. “Klumpy-dumpy!” cried others. There was a great deal of squealing and finally the man told about Klumpy-Dumpy and the children clapped their hands and cried, “Go on! Go on!” The Fir Tree stood quite still, thinking, “Who knows? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a princess!” And he looked forward to the next day, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights and bows and bright tinsel.

“I won't tremble tomorrow,” he thought. “Tomorrow I shall hear again the story of Klumpy-Dumpy and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy, too.” And all night long the Tree stood quite still, thinking.

The next morning in came the servants.

“Ah, now the splendor will begin again!” thought the Fir.

But no. The servants dragged him out of the room, up the stairs into the attic and there, in a dark corner, they left him. “What can this mean?” wondered the Tree, and he leaned against the wall lost in thought. And he had plenty of time for thinking. Days and nights passed and nobody came near him. When at last somebody did come up to the attic, it was only to leave some trunks. There stood the Tree quite hidden. There stood the Tree quite forgotten.

“It is winter out of doors!” he thought. “The earth is hard and cover with snow. I could not be planted now. These people are really very kind. They have put me up here under shelter until spring comes! If only it were not so dark and lonely here! Not even a hare! I liked it out in the woods when the snow was on the ground and the hare leaped by; yes, even when he jumped over me. Ah, but I was not content then.”

“Squeak, squeak!” said the little Mouse, peeping out of his hole. Then another little Mouse came and they sniffed at the Fir Tree and ran in and out among the branches.

“It is dreadfully cold,” said the Mouse. Except for that, it would be nice here, wouldn't it, old Fir?”

“I am not old,” said the Fir Tree. “There is many a tree much older than I.”

“Where do you come from?” asked the Mice. “Tell us about the most beautiful place in the world. Have you ever been there? Have you ever been in the larder where there are cheeses lying on the shelves and hams hanging from the ceiling, where one may dance on tallow candles; a place where one goes in lean and comes out fat?”

“I know of no such place,” said the Tree. “But I know the woods where the sun shines and the birds sing.” Then he told them of the time when he was young, and the little Mice had never heard the like before.

“How much you have seen!” they said. “How happy you must have been!”

“I?” said the Fir Tree, thinking it over. “Yes, those really were happy times.” Then he told about Christmas Eve, when he had been decked out with beautiful ornaments.

“Oh,” said the little mice. “How lucky you have been, old fir Tree.”

“I am not old,” said he. “I came from the woods only this winter.”

“But what wonderful stories you know!” said the Mice, and the next night they came with four other little mice who wanted to hear the stories also. The more the Fir Tree talked about his youth, the more plainly he remembered it himself, and he realized that those times had really been very happy times. “But they may come again. Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs and yet he married a princess.” said the Fir Tree.

“Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?” asked the Mice. So the Fir Tree told the story, and the little Mice were so pleased they jumped to the very top of the Tree. The next night two more Mice came and heard the story.

At last the little Mice stopped coming, and the Tree sighed. “After all I like having the sleek little Mice listen to my stories, but that is over now. When I am brought out again I am going to enjoy myself.”

But when was that to be? Why, one morning a number of people came up to the attic. Trunks were moved and the Tree was pulled out and thrown down on the floor. Then a man drew him toward the stairs, where the sun shone.

“Now life begins again,” thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air, the first sunbeam, and then he was out in the yard. Roses hung over the fence and lindens were in bloom.

“Now I shall enjoy life,” said the Tree, and spread out his branches. But alas, they were all withered and yellow. He lay in a corner among weeds and nettles. The golden star was still on the tree, and it glittered in the sunlight.

In the yard some children were playing , the same children who had danced gaily around the Fir Tree at Christmas time. They were glad to see him again, and the youngest child ran up to him and tore off the golden star.

“Look what is till on the ugly old Christmas Tree!” said he. And he trampled on the crackling branches.

The Tree looked at the beautiful garden and then at himself. He wished he had stayed in his dark corner in the loft. He thought of his youth in the woods, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice.

“'Tis over,” said the poor Tree. “Had I but been happy when I had reason to be! But 'tis over now.”

Then the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces for firewood. When it flamed up in the fireplace, it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a shot.

The children went on playing in the yard. On his chest the youngest wore the gold star which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his life.

Luke 2

Luke 2:1-19

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.

And all went to be taxes, every one into his own city.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. 

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly host praising God, and saying,

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, "Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us."

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.