THE POTATO CHILD & OTHERS

By Mrs. Charles J. Woodbury

 If only our help could begin as soon as our hindrance does

Contents

 The Potato Child A Story That Never Ends A Nazareth Christmas

The Potato Child

It was certain that Elsie had a very hard and solitary life. 

When Miss Amanda had selected her from among the girls at "The Home, "the motherly matron felt sorry. 

"She is a tender-hearted little thing, and a kind word goes a great waywith Elsie. "

Miss Amanda looked at the matron as if she were speaking Greek, and saidnothing. It was quite plain that few words, either kind or unkind, wouldpass Miss Amanda's lips. But "The Home" was more than full, and MissAmanda Armstrong was a person well known as the leading dressmaker inthe city, a person of some money; not obliged to work now if she didn'twish to. "If cold, she is at least perfectly just, " they all said. 

So Elsie went to work for Miss Amanda, and lived in the kitchen. Shewaited on the door, washed the dishes, cleaned the vegetables, andset the table (Miss Amanda lived alone, and ate in the kitchen). EveryFriday she swept the house. Her bed was in a little room in the backattic. 

When she came, Miss Amanda handed her a dress and petticoat, and a pairof shoes. "These are to last six months, " she said, "and see youkeep yourself clean. " She gave her also one change of stockings andunderclothes. 

"Here is your room; you do not need a light to go to bed by, and it isnot healthy to sleep under too many covers. "

It wasn't so much what Miss Amanda did to her, for she never struck her, nor in any way ill-treated her; nor was it so much what she said, forshe said almost nothing. But she said it all in commands, and the lovinglittle Elsie was just driven into herself. 

She had had a darling mother, full of love and tenderness, and Elsiewould say to herself, "I must not forget the things mama told me, 'Lovecan never die, and kind words can never die. '" But she had no one tolove, and she never heard any kind words; so she was a bit worried. "I shall forget how kind words sound, and I shall forget how to love, "sighed the little girl. 

She used to long for a doll or cat or something she could call her ownand talk to. She asked Miss Amanda, who said "No. " She added, "I haveno money to give for such foolishness as a doll, and a cat would eat itshead off. "

Miss Amanda had been blessed with no little-girl time. When she wasyoung, she always had been forced to work hard, and she thought it wasno worse for Elsie than it had been for herself. I don't suppose it was;but one looking in on these two could not but feel for both of them. 

Elsie would try to talk to herself a little at night, but it wascheerless. Then she would lift up her knee, and draw the sheet about itfor a hood, and call it a little girl. She named it Nancy Pullam, andwould try to love that; but it almost broke her back when she tried tohug Nancy. "Oh, if I had something to be good to"! she said. 

So she began greeting the ladies, when she opened the door, with acheerful little "Good morning" or "Good afternoon. "

"I wouldn't do that, " said Miss Amanda, "it looks forward and pert. Itis their place to say 'Good morning, ' not yours. You have no occasionto speak to your betters, and, anyway, children should be seen and notheard. "

One day, a never-forgotten day, she went down cellar to the bin ofpotatoes to select some for dinner. She was sorting them over and layingout all of one size, when she took up quite a long one, and lo! it had alittle face on it and two eyes and a little hump between for a nose anda long crack below that made a very pretty mouth. 

Elsie looked at it joyfully. "It will make me a child, " she said, "nomatter if it has no arms or legs; the face is everything. "

She carefully placed it at the end of the bin, and whenever she couldslip away without neglecting her work would run down cellar and talksoftly to it. 

But one day her potato-child was gone! Elsie's heart gave a big jump, and then fell like lead, and seemed to lie perfectly still; but itcommenced to beat again, beat and ache, beat and ache!

She tried to look for the changeling; but the tears made her so thatshe couldn't see very well; and there were so many potatoes! She lookedevery moment she had a chance all the next day, and cried a great deal. "I can never be real happy again, " she thought. 

"Don't cry any more, " said Miss Amanda, "it does not look well when youopen the door for my customers. You have enough to eat and wear; whatmore do you want?"

"Something to love, " said Elsie, but not very loud. 

She tried not to cry again, and then she felt worse not-to shed tears, when, perhaps, her dear little potato-child was eaten up. 

Two days after, as she was still searching, a little piece of whitepaper in the far dark corner attracted her attention. She went over andlifted it up. Behind it was a hole, and partly in and partly out of thehole lay her potato-child. I think a rat had dragged it out of the bin. She hugged it to her heart, and cried for joy. 

"Oh, my darling, you have come back to me, you have come back!" And thenit seemed as if the pink eyes of the potato-child looked up into Elsie'sin affectionate gratitude; and it became plain to Elsie that her childloved her. She was so thankful that she even kissed the little pieceof white paper. "If it hadn't been for you I would never have found mychild. I mean to keep you always, " she said, and she wrapped it abouther potato-child, and put them in her bosom. "We must never be partedagain, " she murmured. 

At supper, with many misgivings, she unwrapped her treasure for MissAmanda, and asked if she could keep it as her own. "I won't eat anypotato for dinner tomorrow if you will give me this, " she said. 

"Well, " answered Miss Amanda, "I don't know as it will do any harm; whydo you want it?"

"It is my potato-child. I want to love it. "

"See you lose no time, then, " said Miss Amanda. 

And afterward, Elsie never called the potato it, but always "my child. "

She found a fragment of calico, large enough for a dress and skirt, withenough over, a queer, three-cornered piece, which she pinned about theunequal shoulders for a shawl. Upon the bonnet she worked for days. 

All this sewing was a great joy to her. Last of all, she begged a bitof frayed muslin from the sweepings for a night-dress. Then she couldundress her baby every night. 

She must have heard a tiny tuber-voice, for she said, "Now I can neverforget the sound of loving words, and the world is full of joy. "

Elsie had a candle-box in her room, with the cover hung on hinges. Itserved the double purpose of a trunk and a seat. She put her child'sclothes and the scrap of white paper in this box. In the daytime she lether child sit upon the window-sill so she could see the blue sky; butwhen the weather grew colder she took her down to the kitchen eachmorning, lest she should suffer. 

Sometimes, Miss Amanda watched her closely. "She does her work well, butshe is a queer thing. She makes me uneasy, " she thought. 

Christmas was coming. Elsie and her mother had always loved Christmas, and had invariably given some gift to each other. After their stockingswere hung side by side, Christmas Eve, her mother would take her in herlap and tell her the Christmas story. So now it was a great mercy forElsie that she had her child to work for. 

One day, when she had scrubbed the pantry floor unusually clean, MissAmanda gave her the privilege of the rag barrel. This resulted in a newChristmas suit of silk and velvet for baby; and this she made. 

When Elsie left "The Home" the matron had given her a little needle-bookcontaining a spool of thread and thimble for a good-by present. Thesenow came into good play. She used the lamp shears to cut with. 

When all was done the babe looked beautiful, except that it had nostockings. It had not even legs. "I'll make her a wooden leg, and lether be a cripple, then I shall love her all the better. "

But after she had made the leg, and a very good one, too, she hadn't theheart to break the skin of her child, and push it in. 

"I'll make the stockings without legs, " she said, and so she did. 

Elsie was very careful never to let her child see, or mention beforeher, how busy she was for Christmas. 

She felt very sorry for Miss Amanda, and wished she had something togive her, but she could think of nothing except the piece of white papershe found with her potato-child. The afternoon before Christmas she tookit from the candle-box, and smoothed it out upon the cover. It had somewriting upon one side. Elsie thought it was very pretty writing--it hadso many flourishes. Elsie could not read it, of course, but she hopedMiss Amanda would like it. 

How should she give it to her? She didn't dare hand it to her outright, and she was certain Miss Amanda wouldn't hang any stocking; so justbefore dark she slipped into Miss Amanda's sleeping-room, and laid it onthe brown cushion just in front of the mirror. 

When Elsie had finished her work she went to her room, pinned herchild's stocking to the foot of the bed and slyly tucked in the newsuit she had made. Her own stockings lay flat upon the floor. Her breathcaught a little bit as she noticed them. "But it doesn't matter, " shesaid, "parents never care for themselves if they can give their childrenpleasure. "

She crept into bed and took her child on her arm. The night was verycold. The frost made mysterious noises on the roof in the nail-holes andon the glass. She went to bed early because the kitchen was so cold. Shethought "we can talk in bed. " The lock of her door was broken, and shecould not shut it tight. Through this the air came chilly. 

* * * * *

Miss Amanda put on her flannel wrapper and her bed-slippers and sat downbefore the open fire in her sleeping-room. Some way she couldn't keepher thoughts from that little back attic room. She went into the hall, silently up the stairs, and stood outside the door. Elsie was talkingsoftly, but Miss Amanda could hear every word, thanks to the brokenlock. 

"I have much to tell you to-night, dear child, " she heard the waif say, "the whole story of the Christmas Child. It was years ago. His motherwas very young, I guess about twice as old as I am. They hadn't anyhouse; they were in a barn. I think there were no houses to rent in thattown. But she fixed a little cradle for Him in the feed-box, and wrappedHim in long clothes, as I do you, my darling. The angels sang a new songfor Him. A new star shone in the East for Him. Some men with sheep cameto visit Him, and some rich men brought Him lovely presents. My mothertold me all these things, and I mustn't forget them; it helps me toremember to tell it to you. So now, this lovely Christmas Child was bornin a little bit of a town, the town of--oh, my child"--with a mournfulcry--"I've forgotten the name of the town! I used to say it to mymother--it's the town of, the town of--I can't remember. "

Miss Amanda could hear her crying a little softly. 

"Never mind, " she said presently. "I am very sorry; I have not toldthe story often enough. I wish I had some one to teach me a little, butperhaps it don't make so much difference if I have forgotten the name ofthe town. He came to teach us. Sure I won't forget that. Love can neverdie. That's the present He gave to everybody. So if nobody else gives usa Christmas present, we always have the one He gave us. "

Silence for a little. 

"I am very sorry for Miss Amanda, dear. She has no child to love. Shehas a very sad and lonely life. "

Her teeth chattered a little. "It seems like a very cold night; thecovers are quite thin, but we can never really suffer while our heartsare so warm. I'm glad you feel real well, and are just as plump as ever, but your little skin is just one bit wrinkled. You are not going to takecold or be sick? Oh, I couldn't give you up! I should miss you so much, you happy, good little child. "

Miss Amanda heard a kiss. "Good-night, dear. I'm so tired. God bless usall, and help us to remember Miss Amanda, and let her find her presentto-night. "

Miss Amanda crept back to her warm room, and waited until she was surethe child was fast asleep. Then she took a down quilt off the foot ofher own bed, picked up her candle, and retraced her way up-stairs. 

She softly dropped the comforter upon Elsie. She heard, as a sort ofecho, a soft sigh of content. Miss Amanda waited a moment, then shadingthe candle with one hand, she looked at the sleeping child. 

The face was pale and thin. The lashes lay dark upon the white cheeks. They were quite wet; but, pressed close to them, and carefully coveredby little, toil-hardened hands, was the grotesque potato in its whitenight-gown. 

Miss Amanda was surprised by a queer click in her throat, and hurriedout of the room. 

She stood before her fire, candle in hand, and bitterly compressed herlips. She hopes "I'll find my Christmas present to-night. Who will sendit to me, and what will it be? Whom do I care for, and who cares for me?No one. Not one human being. "

She crossed the room, and, placing her candle upon the dressing-table, gazed at herself in the glass. "I am growing old, old and hard, andperfectly friendless. "

But why that start and cry? There before her eyes, in the big, flourishing, boyish handwriting so well remembered, she reads: "Ourlove can never die. We have nothing in the world except each other, dearsister, and no matter what may come, our love can never change. "

She snatched up the paper and threw herself into a chair. 

"Where did it come from"? she cried. "What evil genius placed it herethis night? Haven't I, years ago, torn and destroyed every word thatwretched boy ever wrote me?"

She tossed her arms over her head, and rocked back and forth, andgroaned aloud. She could not help her thoughts now, or keep them fromgoing back over the past. Her heart softened as she remembered, and thescalding tears fell. 

She was only a child, not much older than the one up-stairs, when herdying mother had placed her baby-brother in her arms, saying:

"He is all I have to leave you, Amanda. I know you love him. Don't everbe harsh or unforgiving to him. "

How had she kept her trust? She had loved him. She had worked earlyand worked late for him. She had given up everything; but she had beenill-repaid. 

"Ill, " do I say? Verily, is this not true of Love: that it brings itsown blessedness?

The fire burned low, and the room settled cold and still. She seemed tofeel a pair of boyish arms about her neck and a boy's rough kiss uponher cheek. 

When she was but a young woman she had moved to the big city, andstarted her dressmaker's shop, so that he could have a better chance atschool. What a loving boy he was! So full of fun!

The wind whistled outside. She thought it was he, and she heard himagain: "You're my handsome sister. Not one of the fellows have ashandsome a sister as I. "

How proud she had felt when she had started him off to college. "It onlymeans a few years of a little harder work, and then I'll see my boy ableto take his stand with anybody. "

But now she wept and groaned afresh. "Oh, how could he treat me so, howcould he! The wretched disgrace!"

He had been expelled. The president's letter was severe; but the youngman's letter regretted it as only a boyish prank. He was sorry. He hadnever expected anything so serious would come of it. He deserved thedisgrace. It only hurt him through his love for her. But only forgivehim, and he would show her what he could yet do. 

What had he done?

He had tied a calf to the president's door-bell. 

She remembered her answer to this letter, asking for her forgiveness. Itstood before her, written in characters of flame. 

Had she in this been harsh to the boy, the only legacy her dying motherhad to leave her?

"Never speak to me, nor see my face again. You have disgraced yourselfand me. "

It was not so long a letter but that she could easily remember it. 

Afterward, the president himself had written again to her. He thought hehad been too hasty. It was truly only a boy's prank. It was, of course, ungentlemanly, but the trick was played on All-Fool's Night, and thatshould have had greater weight than it did. The faculty were willing, after proper apologies were made, to excuse it, and take her brotherback. 

Where was her brother? He could not be found, and not one word had sheheard of him since she sent that dreadful letter. He might be dead. Oh, how often she thought that! Now she wrung her hands and covered her wetcheeks with them. Her hair fell about her shoulders, as she shook in heragony of remorse. 

* * * * *

What noise is this? the door-bell pealing through the silent house. Again and again it rings. 

She did not hear this bell. She was listening to another, and how itrang! Louder and louder, how it rang, and well it might, with a calfjumping about, trying to get away from it. Even in all her misery--sonear together are the ecstasies of emotion--she laughed aloud and thenshuddered at the thought that she should never again hear any noisequite so loud as this of the past. 

Then she felt in the silent, chill room a tattered presence, a littlehalf-frozen hand upon her own. She turned her streaming eyes, and theywere met by the big, wide eyes of Elsie. 

"Miss Amanda, didn't you hear the door-bell ringing? There issomething--no, there is somebody--waiting down-stairs for you. "

Half dazed, half afraid, ashamed of her tears, Miss Amanda left theroom, led by the child as by an unearthly presence into an unearthlypresence. 

Who was this bearded man that folded her in his strong, true arms?

* * * * *

"I have so much to tell you, dear child. I am such a happy little girl. Miss Amanda's dear brother has come home. She is so happy, and she loveshim so much. And, oh darling, they both love me! And it was all you!You did it all! Oh, there is no knowing how much good one sweet, loving, contented potato-child can do in a house. "

A Story That Never Ends

Tommy was very angry. He rushed up-stairs and into his mother's room, utterly forgetting his knock or "Am I welcome, mother?"

"Bang!" echoed the door behind him with a noise that resounded over thewhole house. Why he was angry was plain enough. His eye was black, nosebleeding, coat torn, collar hanging. His mother took it off as he bentover the wash-bowl. 

"Oh, Tommy, " she said, "you've been fighting again. "

"Well, mother, " he exclaimed, "what do you expect me to do? That BobSykes threw rocks at me again and called me names. He said I was--"

"Hush, " said his mother, "you only grow more angry as you speak. Is ithard for you now to remember the rule, 'The good things about others, the naughty things about yourself''?"

"Good! There is nothing good about him. I hate him. I wish he was dead, I do. I wish I could kill him. "

Sternly his mother took him by the arm and led him before the mirror. One look at the face he saw there silenced him. 

"To all intents and purposes you have killed him. 'Whosoever hateth hisbrother is a murderer. ' You cannot but remember who said it, Tommy. It is late in the afternoon. The sun is going down. To-morrow is Hisbirthday. Hadn't you better forgive Bob?"

"The sun may go down and the sun may come up for all I care, " heanswered, "I'll never forgive him. "

Without further word his mother bathed his heated face and led him toher bed. "Lie down and rest, " she said, "you are over excited. Quietwill help you. "

He lay and looked at her as she sat quietly and gravely at her workunder the Picture. Ever since he could remember, her chair at this hourof the day had been in that corner, and low over it had always hung, just as it hung now, that Picture so often explained to him, "The Walkto Emmaus. " How calm and quiet his mother was; and the room, how stilland cool after that crowded street! Shutting his aching eyes he couldsee it again now; the swearing mob of boys and men shoving him on, theirbrutal faces and gestures, the quarrel, the blows--those he had givenand taken--he felt them again, and the burning choke of the final gripand wrestle. 

Oh, how his head throbbed and ached! It seemed as if the blood wouldburst through. 

He opened his eyes again. The room was growing darker. He almost forgothis pain for a few moments, noticing how the sunlight was straightenedto a narrow lane which reached from the extreme southern end of thewindow to the floor in front of his mother's chair. He watched the lastrays as they slowly left the floor and stole up her dress to her lap andher breast, leaving all behind and below in shadow. Now they hadreached her face. It was bent over her work. Well he knew that was someChristmas gift, may be for him, --some Christmas gift, and to-morrowwas Christmas! He looked again to see if he could discover what she wasmaking, but the light had left her now, and had risen to the Picture. 

Queer picture that it was! What funny clothes those men wore! Those longgabardines, mother had called them, reaching almost to the ground; shoesthat showed the toes, and hoods for hats. One of them had none. Howclosely they looked at him!. They didn't even see which way they weregoing, and what a long way it was, stretching out there, dusty and hot. 

The room was quite dark now save for the light on the narrow road there. What was yonder little village in the distance? What kind of a place wasEmmaus? His mother had told him about it; only one street, a long andnarrow one; and very few trees; and one or two trading shops only;and the houses low and flat-roofed, with no glass in them; and thesun shining down hot and straight between them, --and (oh, how his headached!) he was out there looking for Bob Sykes. Maybe that was he lyingon this rude bench with the low cedar-bush over it. If it were, he wouldsettle matters with him quick. He would show him--but it wasn't Bob, it was only a sheep-dog asleep. So Tommy turned away and walked slowlyalong the middle of the street. His face burned with the heat of the sunon his bruises. He was very thirsty. Climbing a little hill over whichthe road lay, he saw on the other side of it another boy coming towardhim. He was rather a peculiar looking boy, with a face thoughtful butpleasant. He was carrying a heavy sheepskin bag over his shoulder. Tommydetermined to ask him if he knew where there was some water. 

"Hello, " he said, as the boy drew near. 

The boy stopped and smiled at Tommy without making reply. 

"Where are you going?" said Tommy. 

"I am carrying this bag of tools to my father, " the boy answered. 

"Do you live here?" asked Tommy. "It doesn't seem like much of a place. "

"No, " said the boy, "it isn't much of a place, but I live here. "

"What sort of tools have you got in your bag? Who is your father?"

"My father is a carpenter, " answered the boy. 

Tommy gave a long, low whistle. "A carpenter! Why my father owns astore, and we live in one of the best houses in town. Fairfield is thename of my town. "

The boy seemed neither to notice the whistle nor the brag; but, allowingthe bag to slip from his shoulders to the ground, stood, still smiling, before Tommy. 

Tommy, who somehow had forgotten his pain and thirst, felt embarrassedfor a moment. He never before had made that announcement without itsawakening at least a little sensation, even if it were no more than aboast in return. 

"This is a dull old town, " he finally said. "Many jolly boys around?"

"A good many, " answered the boy. 

"Do you get any time to play? I suppose though, you don't--you have towork most of the time, " added Tommy, encouragingly. 

"I work a good deal, " said the boy. "I get time to play, however. I likeit. "

"Which, the work or the play?"

"Both. "

"Well, " said Tommy after a pause, "do you ever have any trouble with theboys you play with?"

"No, " said the boy, "I don't think I do. "

"Well, you must be a queer sort of a boy! Now, there's BobSykes, --perhaps you've noticed that my eye is hurt, and my facescratched some. Well, we had a little difficulty just a few moments ago;he insulted me, and I won't take an insult from any one. And I told himto shut up his mouth, and he sassed me back, and called me names, andsaid I was stuck up and thought I was better than the other boys, andhe'd show me that I wasn't. Of course, I wouldn't stand that, so I'vehad a fight, --and it isn't the first one either. "

"Yes, " said the boy, "I know that. I feel very sorry for Bob. He hasn'tany mother to go to, you know. He had to wash the blood and dirt off hisface as best he could at the town pump; and then wait around the streetsuntil his father came from work. It is pretty hard for a boy to have noplace to lay his head. "

"Why, do you know Bob Sykes?" asked Tommy. 

"Yes, " answered the boy, "I've been with him a good deal. "

"Queer now, " mused Tommy. "I don't remember of ever seeing you around. But now tell me what you would have done if he had provoked you, andinsulted you, too?"

"I would have forgiven him, " answered the boy. 

"Well, I did. There was one spell I just started in and forgave himevery day for a week, that was seven times. "

"I would have forgiven him seventy times seven. "

"That is just what my mother always says. Perhaps you know my mother?"

"She knows me, too, " replied the boy. 

"That is odd. I didn't think she knew any of the boys Bob knows. "

"Bob does not know me, " replied the boy; "I know him. "

Just then Tommy's attention was attracted by a flock of little brownbirds passing over their heads. One of the birds flew low and flutteredas if wounded, and fell in the dust near, where it lay beating itslittle wings, panting and dying. The boy tenderly picked it up. 

"Somebody's hit him with a sling-shot, " said Tommy, carelessly. 

The boy smoothed the bruised wing, and straightened the crushed andbroken body. The bird ceased fluttering. 

"I'm most sorry, " said Tommy, "I didn't forgive Bob. It makes me feelbad, what you told me about his having no home. Now, mother is somethinglike you. She don't mind one's being poor. Why, if I took Bob home withme, mother wouldn't seem to see his clothes and ragged shoes. She'djust talk to him and treat him like he was the best dressed boy in town. There's Bill Logan came home to dinner with me once. Mother made me askhim. He is a real poor boy; has to work. His mother washes. He didn'tknow what to do nor how to act. He kept his hands in his pockets mostall the time. Aunt Lilly said it was shocking. But mother said, 'Nevermind. ' She said she was glad he had his pockets; for his hands wererough and not too clean, and she thought they mortified him. Father wentand kissed her then. Don't tell this. I don't know what makes me run onand tell you all these things. I never spoke of them before. But I knowfather was a poor, young working man when he married mother. "

The boy raised his hand, and the sparrow gave a twitter of delight andflew heavenward. 

"Why, " exclaimed Tommy in amazement, "you've cured him! He is all right. How did you do it? Do you feel sorry for the sparrows as well as Bob?"

"I pity every sparrow that is hurt, " said the boy, "and isn't Bob ofmore consequence than a sparrow?"

"I wish, " said Tommy, "I hadn't fought with Bob. It was most all myfault. I've a good mind to tell him so. I wish I was better acquaintedwith you. If I played with such a boy as you are, now, I'd be better Iam certain. Suppose you come after school nights and play in our yard. Never mind your clothes. Can't you come?"

"Yes, I will come if you want me to, " answered the boy, lookingsteadfastly at him a moment; "but now I must be about my father'sbusiness. "

He stooped, lifted the bag of tools to his shoulders, and before Tommycould stay him had moved some steps away. 

"Don't go yet, tell me some more about what you'd do, " and Tommy turnedto follow him. 

But was it the boy? And was that a bag of tools on his back? It hadgrown strangely longer and heavier now, so that it dragged on theground, and the face was the face of the Picture, and lo, it turnedtoward him, and the hand was raised in benediction and farewell, "I amwith you always, " and he was gone. 

"Oh! come back, come back, " sobbed Tommy, reaching out his arms andstruggling to run after him. 

"Poor boy, " said his mother, wiping the blinding tears from his eyes, "your sleep didn't do you much good. "

"I've not been asleep, " said Tommy; "I've been talking with--with--Him, "and he spoke low with a longing reverence and pointed to the Picture. 

"It was a dream, my child. "

"Mother, it was a vision. I saw Him, when He was a little boy in His owntown, Nazareth. And, mother, I even told Him it wasn't much of a placeto live in. He talked to me about Bob. He said you knew Him. I saw himcure a little bird. And oh, mother, He said He would be with me always. He is a little boy like me! I know what to do now. He showed me. I mustfind Bob; I must have him forgive me. I want to bring him home with meinto my bed for to-night. "

He stopped. "Mother, " he said solemnly, "to-morrow is His birthday. "

A Nazareth Christmas

"Now, tell us, mother, again--as ever this night--the story of ourbrother's birth. "

"Yes, dear mother, and not forgetting the star; for us no story is likethis, not even the story of young King David, although in truth, that isa goodly tale. "

"Then sit, children; lend me your aid with the gifts; and now, as darkcomes on, while yet your father and brother are not returned from theirwork, I will repeat again the oft-told story. I see not how I can forgetaught, for it seems ever before me. 

"You must know it was between the wet time and the dry when your fatherand I went up to Judea to be enrolled. Bethlehem was our city. Therewere a great many journeying in our company to the House of Bread. I wasnot strong in those days; and so your father obtained an ass for meto ride, while he walked by my side. We traveled slowly, and the earlynight had already set in when we passed where Rachel rests, and reachedthe village. In front of the inn at which your father intended stopping, he left my side a moment, while he went to arrange for our stay; buthe straightway returned, saying there was no room for us. So we werecompelled to go farther; and it was late, --how late I know not, --beforewe found rest; for at every inn where your father knocked the answer wasthe same: 'No room!' 'No room!' Your father bore up bravely, though hehad the harder part; while, in my childishness, I was fain to kneel inthe chalk-dust of the road, and seek what rest I could. But he upheldme, until, at last, one inn-keeper, seeing what a child I was in truthtook pity on me and said:

"I am able to do no more for you than for my poor cattle; but I can giveyou shelter with them in the cavern stable and a bed if only straw. "

"And, children, I was very thankful for this. I had been told beforethat to me a Prince should be born; that, girl as I was, as mother, should clasp in my arms a Savior-child. I believed the words of theangel, --for was I not of the house of David?--and ever treasured themin my heart. Now, how strange should it be that not in my peacefulNazareth, not in this, our own home, but: there, and that weary night ofall nights, beside me on the straw should be laid my infant son!

"I knew immediately what to call him, for, as I have often told you, the angel had named him 'Jesus. ' 'Even so, ' the angel had said; 'for heshall save his people from their sins. ' I have wondered much what thatmeans for your brother. "

"Watch well your work, children! Burn not the cakes. Fold with care themantles and the coats. This garment we will lay aside for patches. Itrepays not labor to put new to old; and, James, test well the skinsbefore you fill them with the wine. We know not to whom your brotherbears the gifts of his handiwork to-night, but he knows who needs themmost, and naught must be lost or wasted. 

"Where was I in the story, children?"

"The baby on the hay, sweet mother. "

"Ah, yes, I mind me now. I took him in my arms. To me no child had everlooked the same. But now, a marvel! The rock stable, which before hadseemed dark indeed, lighted only by our dim lamps, suddenly shone fullof light. I raised my eyes, and there, before and above me, seeminglythrough a rent in the roof, I beheld a most large and luminous star. Verily, I had not seen the opening in the roof when I had lain me down, but now I could do naught else but look from my baby's face beside me, along the floods of light to the star before. 

"And now, without, rose a cry: 'We are come to behold the King. We areguided. ' And, entering the stable, clad in their coats of sheepskin, with their slings and crooks yet in their hands, came shepherds, Icannot now recall the number. "

"I had wrapped my babe in his clothes, and had lain him in his manger. And now it was so that as soon as their eyes fell upon his face, theysank to their knees and worshiped him. "

"'Heard you not, ' spake a white-bearded shepherd to me; 'heard you not, young Mother Mary, the angels' song?'"

"'Meseems I have long heard it, and can hear naught else, good father, 'I answered. "

"To us it came, ' he said, 'in the first watch of this night, and with itmusic not of earth. '"

"Afterward came the learned ones from the Eastern countries, --I know notnow the land. The gifts they brought him made all the place seem like aking's palace; and with all their gifts they gave him worship also. "

"And I lay watching it all. And it shall be always so, I thought. "

"But these, though wise men, were not of our race, and could not followthe guiding star with our faith. Wherefore, so much stir had theymade throughout the kingdom, inquiring publicly concerning this, yourbrother, that, through the jealousy of Herod, great was the trouble andmisery that fell upon the innocent after their going. "

"But hearken, children; I hear even now your father and your brothercoming from their work. Place quickly the gifts within the basket. "

It is a gentle figure that bends among mother and children, and a tendervoice that questions:

"Shall I bear forth the gifts?"

"They are ready now, my son. Even this moment thy brother James placedthe last within the basket, but canst thou not partake of the eveningmeal before thou goest with them? Thou art but a lad, to go forth aloneafter a day of toil. "

"Nay, but I must be about the Master's work; and, look, the stars arerising. I should tarry not, for they who toil long rest early. "

"For whom is thy service to-night, my son? Last birth-night it was tothe sorrowing; before that to the blind, and even yet to the deaf andthe lame. And whither tend thy footsteps now?"

"To the tempted ones, mother. "

"And thou shalt stay their feet, dear boy, for rememberest not theImmanuels of last year? How the sorrowful found strange, staying joy intheir hearts? How the blind said, as thou named their gifts, and placedthem in their hands, that it seemed they could straightway behold them?How even the dumb gave forth pleasant sounds like music from theirhelpless tongues? and how even the lame well-nigh leaped from theirlameness, for the light of thy young face? But when thou comest to thycrown and throne thou needest not got forth alone upon thy birth-night, but send out thy gifts with love and plenty. "

"I know not, my mother. "

"But all will be thine? What said the angel: 'The Lord God shall giveunto him the throne of his father David; and of his kingdom there shallbe no end!' It may be soon, we know not, for lo! King David was but aboy, and at his daily toil, when he was called to reign over the houseof Jacob. Forget not, thou art born the King. "

"Oh, gladden not thy heart, loved mother, with this joy. I seek not tobehold the future, but I see not in this world my kingdom, for the roseblossoms I pluck from out the hedge-rows fall; and it is their thornbranch that ever within my hands twines into a crown. "

 Here ends The Potato Child and Others by Mrs. Charles J. Woodbury. The frontispiece after a bas-relief by Elizabeth Ferrea. Published by Paul Elder & Company and done into a book for them at their Tomoye Press, under the direction of John Henry Nash, in the city of San Francisco, Nineteen Hundred & Eleven