Once upon a time, a long, long time
ago, on the night before Christmas, a little child
was wandering all alone through the streets of a
great city. There were many people on the street,
fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, uncles
and aunts, and even gray-haired grandfathers and
grandmothers, all of whom were hurrying home with
bundles of presents for each other and for their
little ones. Fine carriages rolled by, express
wagons rattled past, even old carts were pressed
into service, and all things seemed in a hurry and
glad with expectation of the coming Christmas
morning.
From some of the windows bright lights were already
beginning to stream until it was almost as bright as
day. But the little child seemed to have no home,
and wandered about listlessly from street to street.
No one took any notice of him except perhaps Jack
Frost, who bit his bare toes and made the ends of
his fingers tingle. The north wind, too, seemed to
notice the child, for it blew against him and
pierced his ragged garments through and through,
causing him to shiver with cold. Home after home he
passed, looking with longing eyes through the
windows, in upon the glad, happy children, most of
whom were helping to trim the Christmas trees for
the coming morrow.
"Surely," said the child to himself, "where there is
so must gladness and happiness, some of it may be
for me." So with timid steps he approached a large
and handsome house. Through the windows, he could
see a tall and stately Christmas tree already
lighted. Many presents hung upon it. Its green
boughs were trimmed with gold and silver ornaments.
Slowly he climbed up the broad steps and gently
rapped at the door. It was opened by a large
man-servant. He had a kindly face, although his
voice was deep and gruff. He looked at the little
child for a moment, then sadly shook his head and
said, "Go down off the steps. There is no room here
for such as you." He looked sorry as he spoke;
possibly he remembered his own little ones at home,
and was glad
that they were not out in this cold and bitter
night. Through the open door a bright light shone,
and the warm air, filled with fragrance of the
Christmas pine, rushed out from the inner room and
greeted the little wanderer with a kiss. As the
child turned back into the cold and darkness, he
wondered why the footman had spoken thus, for
surely, thought he, those little children would love
to have another companion join them in their joyous
Christmas festival. But the little children inside
did not even know that he had knocked at the door.
The street grew colder and darker as the child
passed on. He went sadly forward, saying to himself,
"Is there no one in all this great city who will
share the Christmas with me?" Farther and farther
down the street he wandered, to where the homes were
not so large and beautiful. There seemed to be
little children inside of nearly all the houses.
They were dancing and frolicking about. Christmas
trees could be seen in nearly every window, with
beautiful dolls and trumpets and picture-books and
balls and tops and other dainty toys hung upon them.
In one window the child noticed a little lamb made
of soft white wool. Around its neck
was tied a red ribbon. It had evidently been hung on
the tree for one of the children. The little
stranger stopped before this window and looked long
and earnestly at the beautiful things inside, but
most of all was he drawn toward the white lamb. At
last creeping up to the window-pane, he gently
tapped upon it. A little girl came to the window and
looked out into the dark street where the snow had
now begun to fall. She saw the child, but she only
frowned and shook her head and said, "Go away and
come some other time. We are too busy to take care
of you now." Back into the dark, cold streets he
turned again. The wind was whirling past him and
seemed to say, "Hurry on, hurry on, we have no time
to stop. 'Tis Christmas Eve and everybody is in a
hurry to-night."
Again and again the little child rapped softly at
door or window-pane. At each place he was refused
admission. One mother feared he might have some ugly
disease which her darlings would catch; another
father said he had only enough for his own children
and none to spare for beggars. Still another told
him to go home where he belonged, and not to trouble
other folks.
The hours passed; later grew the night, and colder
grew the wind, and darker seemed the street. Farther
and farther the little one wandered. There was
scarcely any one left upon the street by this time,
and the few who remained did not seem to see the
child, when suddenly ahead of him there appeared a
bright, single ray of light. It shone through the
darkness into the child's eyes. He looked up
smilingly and said, "I will go where the small light
beckons, perhaps they will share their Christmas
with me."
Hurrying past all the other houses, he soon reached
the end of the
street and went straight up to the window from which
the light was
streaming. It was a poor, little, low house, but the
child cared not
for that. The light seemed still to call him in.
From what do you
suppose the light came? Nothing but a tallow candle
which had been placed in an old cup with a broken
handle, in the window, as a glad token of Christmas
Eve. There was neither curtain nor shade to the
small, square window and as the little child looked
in he saw standing upon a neat wooden table a branch
of a Christmas tree. The room was plainly furnished
but it was very clean. Near the fireplace sat a
lovely faced mother with a little two-year-old on
her knee and an older child beside her. The two
children were looking into their mother's face and
listening to a story. She must have been telling
them a Christmas story, I think. A few bright coals
were burning in the fireplace, and all seemed light
and warm within.
The little wanderer crept closer and closer to the
window-pane. So
sweet was the mother's face, so loving seemed the
little children, that at last he took courage and
tapped gently, very gently on the door. The mother
stopped talking, the little children looked up.
"What was that, mother?" asked the little girl at
her side. "I think it was some one tapping on the
door," replied the mother. "Run as quickly as you
can and open it, dear, for it is a bitter cold night
to keep any one waiting in this storm." "Oh, mother,
I think it was the bough of the tree tapping against
the window-pane," said the little girl. "Do please
go on with our story." Again the little wanderer
tapped upon the door. "My child, my child,"
exclaimed the mother, rising, "that certainly was a
rap on the door. Run quickly and open it. No one
must be left out in the cold on our beautiful
Christmas Eve."
The child ran to the door and threw it wide open.
The mother saw the ragged stranger standing without,
cold and shivering, with bare head and almost bare
feet. She held out both hands and drew him into the
warm, bright room. "You poor, dear child," was all
she said, and putting her arms around him, she drew
him close to her breast. "He is very cold, my
children," she exclaimed. "We must warm him." "And,"
added the little girl, "we must love him and give
him some of our Christmas, too." "Yes," said the
mother, "but first let us warm him--"
The mother sat down by the fire with the little
child on her lap, and
her own little ones warmed his half-frozen hands in
theirs. The mother smoothed his tangled curls, and,
bending low over his head, kissed the child's face.
She gathered the three little ones in her arms and
the candle and the fire light shone over them. For a
moment the room was very still. By and by the little
girl said softly, to her mother, "May we not light
the Christmas tree, and let him see how beautiful it
looks?" "Yes," said the mother. With that she seated
the child on a low stool beside the fire, and went
herself to fetch the few simple ornaments which from
year to year she had saved for her children's
Christmas tree. They were soon so busy that they did
not notice the room had filled with a strange and
brilliant light. They turned and looked at the spot
where the little wanderer sat. His ragged clothes
had changed to garments white and beautiful; his
tangled curls seemed like a halo of golden light
about his head; but most glorious of all was his
face, which shone with a light so dazzling that they
could scarcely look upon it.
In silent wonder they gazed at the child. Their
little room seemed to grow larger and larger, until
it was as wide as the whole world, the roof of their
low house seemed to expand and rise, until it
reached to the sky.
With a sweet and gentle smile the wonderful child
looked upon them for a moment, and then slowly rose
and floated through the air, above the treetops,
beyond the church spire, higher even than the clouds
themselves, until he appeared to them to be a
shining star in the sky above. At last he
disappeared from sight. The astonished children
turned in hushed awe to their mother, and said in a
whisper, "Oh, mother, it was the Christ-Child, was
it not?" And the mother answered in a low tone,
"Yes."
And it is said, dear children, that each Christmas
Eve the little
Christ-Child wanders through some town or village,
and those who
receive him and take him into their homes and hearts
have given to them this marvelous vision which is
denied to others.
