There was once in a faraway
country where few people have ever traveled, a
wonderful church. It stood on a high hill in the
midst of a great city; and every Sunday, as well as
on sacred days like Christmas, thousands of people
climbed the hill to its great archways, looking like
lines of ants all moving in the same direction.
When you came to the building itself, you found
stone columns and dark passages, and a grand
entrance leading to the main room of the church.
This room was so long that one standing at the
doorway could scarcely see to the other end, where
the choir stood by the marble altar. In the farthest
corner was the organ; and this organ was so loud,
that sometimes when it played, the people for miles
around would close their shutters and prepare for a
great thunderstorm. Altogether, no such church as
this was ever seen before, especially when it was
lighted up for some festival, and crowded with
people, young and old. But the strangest thing about
the whole building was the wonderful chime of bells.
At one corner of the church was a great gray tower,
with ivy growing over it as far up as one could see.
I say as far as one could see, because the tower was
quite great enough to fit the great church, and it
rose so far into the sky that it was only in very
fair weather that any one claimed to be able to see
the top. Even then one could not be certain that it
was in sight. Up, and up, and up climbed the stones
and the ivy; and as the men who built the church had
been dead for hundreds of years, every one had
forgotten how high the tower was supposed to be.
Now all the people knew that at the top of the
tower was a chime of Christmas bells. They had hung
there ever since the church had been built, and were
the most beautiful bells in the world. Some thought
it was because a great musician had cast them and
arranged them in their place; others said it was
because of the great height, which reached up where
the air was clearest and purest; however that might
be no one who had ever heard the chimes denied that
they were the sweetest in the world. Some described
them as sounding like angels far up in the sky;
others as sounding like strange winds singing
through the trees.
But the fact was that no one had heard them for
years and years. There was an old man living not far
from the church who said that his mother had spoken
of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he
was the only one who was sure of as much as that.
They were Christmas chimes, you see, and were not
meant to be played by men or on common days. It was
the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to
bring to the church their offerings to the
Christ-Child; and when the greatest and best
offering was laid on the altar there used to come
sounding through the music of the choir the
Christmas chimes far up in the tower. Some said that
the wind rang them, and others, that they were so
high that the angels could set them swinging. But
for many long years they had never been heard. It
was said that people had been growing less careful
of their gifts for the Christ-Child, and that no
offering was brought great enough to deserve the
music of the chimes.
Every Christmas Eve the rich people still crowded to
the altar, each one trying to bring some better gift
than any other, without giving anything that he
wanted for himself, and the church was crowded with
those who thought that perhaps the wonderful bells
might be heard again. But although the service was
splendid, and the offerings plenty, only the roar of
the wind could be heard, far up in the stone tower.
Now, a number of miles from the city, in a little
country village, where nothing could be seen of the
great church but glimpses of the tower when the
weather was fine, lived a boy named Pedro, and his
little brother. They knew very little about the
Christmas chimes, but they had heard of the service
in the church on Christmas Eve, and had a secret
plan which they had often talked over when by
themselves, to go to see the beautiful celebration.
"Nobody can guess, Little Brother," Pedro would say;
"all the fine things there are to see and hear; and
I have even heard it said that the Christ-Child
sometimes comes down to bless the service. What if
we could see Him?"
The day before Christmas was bitterly cold, with a
few lonely snowflakes flying in the air, and a hard
white crust on the ground.
Sure enough Pedro and Little Brother were able to
slip quietly away early in the afternoon; and
although the walking was hard in the frosty air,
before nightfall they had trudged so far, hand in
hand, that they saw the lights of the big city just
ahead of them. Indeed they were about to enter one
of the great gates in the wall that surrounded it,
when they saw something dark on the snow near their
path, and stepped aside to look at it.
It was a poor woman, who had fallen just outside the
city, too sick and tired to get in where she might
have found shelter. The soft snow made of a drift a
sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so
sound asleep, in the wintry air, that no one could
ever waken her again. All this Pedro saw in a moment
and he knelt down beside her and tried to rouse her,
even tugging at her arm a little, as though he would
have tried to carry her away. He turned her face
toward him, so that he could rub some of the snow on
it, and when he had looked at her silently a moment
he stood up again, and said:
"It's no use, Little Brother. You will have to go on
alone."
"Alone?" cried Little Brother. "And you not see the
Christmas festival?"
"No," said Pedro, and he could not keep back a bit
of a choking sound in his throat. "See this poor
woman. Her face looks like the Madonna in the chapel
window, and she will freeze to death if nobody cares
for her. Every one has gone to the church now, but
when you come back you can bring some one to help
her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, and
perhaps get her to eat the bun that is left in my
pocket."
"But I cannot bear to leave you, and go on alone,"
said Little Brother.
"Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro.
"and it had better be I than you. You can easily
find your way to church; and you must see and hear
everything twice, Little Brother--once for you and
once for me. I am sure the Christ-Child must know
how I should love to come with you and worship Him;
and oh! if you get a chance, Little Brother, to slip
up to the altar without getting in any one's way,
take this little silver piece of mine, and lay it
down for my offering, when no one is looking. Do not
forget where you have left me, and forgive me for
not going with you."
In this way he hurried Little Brother off to the
city and winked hard to keep back the tears, as he
heard the crunching footsteps sounding farther and
farther away in the twilight. It was pretty hard to
lose the music and splendor of the Christmas
celebration that he had been planning for so long,
and spend the time instead in that lonely place in
the snow.
The great church was a wonderful place that night.
Every one said that it had never looked so bright
and beautiful before. When the organ played and the
thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the
sound, and little Pedro, away outside the city wall,
felt the earth tremble around them.
At the close of the service came the procession with
the offerings to be laid on the altar. Rich men and
great men marched proudly up to lay down their gifts
to the Christ-Child. Some brought wonderful jewels,
some baskets of gold so heavy that they could
scarcely carry them down the aisle. A great writer
laid down a book that he had been making for years
and years. And last of all walked the king of the
country, hoping with all the rest to win for himself
the chime of the Christmas bells.
There went a great murmur through the church as the
people saw the king take from his head the royal
crown, all set with precious stones, and lay it
gleaming on the altar, as his offering to the Holy
Child.
"Surely," every one said, "we shall hear the bells
now, for nothing like this has ever happened
before."
But still only the cold old wind was heard in the
tower and the people shook their heads; and some of
them said, as they had before, that they never
really believed the story of the chimes, and doubted
if they ever rang at all.
The procession was over, and the choir began the
closing hymn. Suddenly the organist stopped playing;
and every one looked at the old minister, who was
standing by the altar, holding up his hand for
silence. Not a sound could be heard from any one in
the church, but as all the people strained their
ears to listen, there came softly, but distinctly,
swinging through the air, the sound of the chimes in
the tower. So far away, and yet so clear the music
seemed--so much sweeter were the notes than anything
that had been heard before, rising and falling away
up there in the sky, that the people in the church
sat for a moment as still as though something held
each of them by the shoulders. Then they all stood
up together and stared straight at the altar, to see
what great gift had awakened the long silent bells.
But all that the nearest of them saw was the
childish figure of Little Brother, who had crept
softly down the aisle when no one was looking, and
had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on the
altar.
