What would Gottlieb have given to be able to comfort his mother! He could only sit and brood, while his young heart swelled and a lump rose in his throat at the thought that he could do nothing.
Presently, however, a happy fancy came to him. Was not the Christ Child born on Christmas Day, and did not He send good gifts to men on His birthday? But then came the thought, "He will never find us. Our home is so mean and small." It seemed foolish to hope, but a boy is not long cast down, and as Gottlieb sat dreaming, a happy inspiration came to him. Stealing softly from the room he took paper and pen, for he had learnt to write, and spelt out, word after word, a letter which he addressed to the Christ Child.
You may be sure that the postman was puzzled what to do with this letter when he sorted it out of the heap in the letter-box. Perhaps the Burgomaster would know the right thing to do? So the postman took the letter to the great burly man who lived in the big house and wore a gold chain round his neck. The Burgomaster opened the envelope, and as he read the letter written in the trembling hand of a child, tears came into his eyes. But he spoke gruffly enough to the postman, "This must be a foolish boy; a small one, I have no doubt."
Soon Christmas morning dawned, and Gottlieb woke very early. But others were up before him, for, to his surprise, he saw a strange gentleman with his mother. His wondering eyes soon perceived other unusual objects, for the hearth was piled with wood, and the table was loaded with food and dainties such as he had never even imagined.
Gottlieb entered the room just as his mother threw herself at the stranger"s feet to bless him for his generous goodness to the widow and orphan. "Nay, give me no thanks, worthy dame," said the visitor. "Rather be grateful to your little son, and to the good Lord to whom he wrote for aid."
Then he turned to Gottlieb with a smile, "You see that although you wrote to the Christ Child, your prayer for aid came only to the Burgomaster. The gifts you asked for are here, but they come from my hand." But Gottlieb answered him humbly, "Nay, sir, the Christ Child sent them, for He put the thought in your heart."
FOOTNOTES:
[36] Adapted from the poem by Phoebe Gary, in _A Treasury of Verse_, Part I., M.G. Edgar.
HOW THE FIR TREE BECAME THE CHRISTMAS TREE[37]
When you stand round the Christmas tree and look longingly at the toys hanging from the p.r.i.c.kly branches, it does not occur to you to ask why it is always this particular tree that is so honoured at Christmas. The dark green Fir looks so majestic when laden with bright toys and lit up by Christmas candles, that perhaps it is not easy to believe that it is the most modest of trees. But so it is, and because of its humility it was chosen to bear Christmas gifts to the children. This is the story:
When the Christ Child was born, all people, animals, trees, and other plants felt that a great happiness had come into the world. And truly, the Heavenly Father had sent with the Holy Babe His blessings of Peace and Goodwill to all. Every day people came to see the sweet Babe, bringing presents in their hands. By the stable wherein lay the Christ Child stood three trees, and as the people came and went under their spreading branches, they thought that they, too, would like to give presents to the Child.
Said the Palm, "I will choose my biggest leaf and place it as a fan beside the manger to waft soft air to the Child."
"And I," said the Olive, "I will sprinkle sweet-smelling oil over Him."
"What can I give to the Child?" asked the Fir.
"You?" said the others. "You have nothing to offer. Your needles would p.r.i.c.k the wee Babe, and your tears are sticky."
This made the poor Fir very unhappy indeed, and it said, sadly, "Yes, you are right. I have nothing that would be good enough to offer to the Christ Child."
Now, quite near to the trees had stood an Angel, who had heard all that had pa.s.sed. He was moved to pity the Fir, who was so lowly and without envy of the other trees, and he resolved to help it.
High in the dark of the heavens the stars were beginning to twinkle, and the Angel begged some of the little ones to come down and rest upon the branches of the Fir. This they were glad to do, and their silvery light shone among the branches just like Christmas candles. From where He lay the Christ Child could see the great dark evening world and the darker forms of the trees keeping watch, like faithful guardians, beside the open door of the stable; and to its delight the Fir Tree saw the face of the Babe illumined with a heavenly smile as He looked upon the twinkling lights.
The Christ Child did not forget the lovely sight, and long afterward he bade that to celebrate His birthday there should be placed in every house a Fir Tree, which might be lit up with candles to shine for the children as the stars shone for Him on His first birthday.
Was not the Fir Tree richly rewarded for its meekness? Surely there is no other tree that shines on so many happy faces!
FOOTNOTES:
[37] From the German of Hedwig Levi.
THE DIAMOND AND THE DEWDROP[38]
A costly Diamond, that had once sparkled in a lady"s ring, lay in a field amid tall gra.s.ses and oxeye daisies.
Just above it, was a big Dewdrop that clung timidly to a nodding gra.s.s-blade.
Overhead, the blazing sun shone in all his noonday glory.
Ever since the first pink blush of dawn, the modest Dewdrop had gazed fixedly down upon the rich gem, but feared to address a person of such exalted consequence.
At last, a large Beetle, during his rambles, chanced to espy the Diamond, and he also recognised him to be some one of great rank and importance.
"Sire," he said, making a low bow, "permit your humble servant to offer you greeting."
"Tha--nks," responded the Diamond in languid tones of affectation.
As the Beetle raised his head from his profound bow, his gaze happened to alight upon the Dewdrop.
"A relative of yours, I presume, Sire?" he remarked affably, waving one of his feelers in the direction of the Dewdrop.
The Diamond burst into a rude, contemptuous laugh.
"Quite _too_ absurd, I declare!" he exclaimed loftily. "But there, what _can_ you expect from a low, grovelling beetle? Away, sir, pa.s.s on! Your very presence is distasteful to me. The _idea_ of placing ME upon the same level--in the same family, as a low-born, mean, insignificant, utterly valueless----" Here the Diamond fairly choked for breath.
"But has he not beauty exactly like your own, Sire?" the Beetle ventured to interpose, though with a very timid air.
"BEAU--TY!" flashed the Diamond, with fine disdain--"the impudent fellow merely apes and imitates ME. However, it is some small consolation to remember that "Imitation is the sincerest flattery." But, even _allowing_ him to possess it, mere beauty without _rank_ is ridiculous and worthless. A Boat without _water_--a Carriage, but no _horses_--a Well, but never a _winch_: such is beauty without rank and wealth! There is no _real worth_ apart from rank and wealth. Combine Beauty, Rank, _and_ Wealth, and you have the whole world at your feet. Now you know the secret of the world worshipping ME."
And the Diamond sparkled and gleamed with vivid, violet flashes, so that the Beetle was glad to shade his eyes.
The poor Dewdrop had listened silently to all that had pa.s.sed, and felt so wounded, that at last he wished he never had been born. Slowly a bright tear fell and splashed the dust.
Just then, a Skylark fluttered to the ground and eagerly darted his beak at the Diamond.
"Alas!" he piped, with a great sob of disappointment. "What I thought to be a precious dewdrop is only a worthless diamond. My throat is parched for want of water. I must die of thirst!"
"Really? The world will never get over your loss," cruelly sneered the Diamond.
But a sudden and n.o.ble resolve came to the Dewdrop. Deeply did he repent his foolish wish. _He could now lay down his life that the life of another might be saved!_
"May _I_ help you, please?" he gently asked.
The Lark raised his drooping head.
"Oh, my precious, precious friend, if you will, you can save my life!"
"Open your mouth then."