Part 4 (1/2)

”What was that?” exclaimed Grandfather, starting nervously. ”Ho, Prince!

Are you without there?” and he ran to the door, while Grandmother was still rubbing from her eyes the happy dream which had made them moist,--the dream of a rosy, radiant Child who was to be the care and comfort of a lonely cottage. And then, before she had fairly wakened from the dream, Prince bounded into the room and laid before the fire at her feet a soft, snow-wrapped bundle, from which hung a pale little face with golden hair.

”It is the Child of my dream!” cried Bettine. ”The Holy One has come back to us.”

”Nay, this is no dream-child, mother. This is a little human fellow, nearly frozen to death,” exclaimed Josef Viaud, pulling the bundle toward the fire. ”Come, Bettine, let us take off his snow-stiff clothes and get some little garments from the chests yonder. I will give him a draught of something warm, and rub the life into his poor little hands and feet. We have both been dreaming, it seems. But certainly this is no dream!”

”Look! The dove!” cried Grandmother, taking the bird from the child's bosom, where it still nestled, warm and warming. ”Josef! I believe it is indeed the Holy Child Himself,” she whispered. ”He bears a dove in his bosom, like the image in the Church.” But even as she spoke the dove fluttered in her fingers, then, with a gentle ”Coo-roo!” whirled once about the little chamber and darted out at the door, which they had forgotten quite to close. With that the child opened his eyes.

”The dove is gone!” he cried. ”Yet I am warm. Why--has the little Stranger come once more?” Then he saw the kind old faces bent over him, and felt Prince's warm kisses on his hands and cheeks, with the fire flickering pleasantly beyond.

”It is like coming home again!” he murmured, and with his head on Bettine's shoulder dropped comfortably to sleep.

On the morrow all the village went to see the image of the Christ Child lying in a manger near the high altar of the church. It was a sweet little Child in a white s.h.i.+rt, clasping in his hands a dove. They believed him to have come in the stormy night down the village street.

And they were glad that their pious candles in the windows had guided Him safely on the road. But little Pierre, while he sang in the choir, and his adopted parents, the Viauds, kneeling happily below, had sweet thoughts of a dream which had brought them all together.

Who knows but that Prince at home happily guarding Pierre's snow-wet old shoes--who knows but that Prince was dreaming the happiest dream of all?

For only Prince knew how and where and under what guidance he had found the little friend of the Lord's friends sleeping in the snow, with but a white dove in his bosom to keep him from becoming a boy of ice.

THE MERMAID'S CHILD

IN the rocks on the seash.o.r.e, left bare by the tide, one often finds tiny pools of water fringed with seaweed and padded with curious moss.

These are the cradles which the Mermaids have trimmed prettily for the sea-babies, and where they leave the little ones when they have to go away on other business, as Mermaids do. But one never spies the sea-children in their cradles, for they are taught to tumble out and slip away into the sea if a human step should approach. You see, the fishes have told the Mer-folk cruel tales of the Land-people with their nets and hooks and lines.

In the softest, prettiest little cradle of all a Sea-child lay one afternoon crying to himself. He cried because he was lonesome. His mother did not love him as a baby's mother should; for she was the silliest and the vainest of all the Mermaids. Her best friend was her looking-gla.s.s of polished pearl, and her only care was to remain young and girlish. Indeed, she bore her thousand-odd years well, even for a Mermaid. She liked the Sea-baby well enough, but she was ashamed to have him follow her about as he loved to do, because she imagined it made her seem old to be called ”Mer-mother” by his lisping lips. She never had time to caress or play with him; and finally she forbade him ever to speak to her unless she spoke first. Sometimes she seemed to forget him altogether, as she left him to take care of himself, while she sat on the rocks combing her long green hair, or playing with the giddy Mermen in the caves below the sea.

So while the other sea-people sported or slept and were happy, her poor little Sea-child lay and cried in the green pool where the sea-anemones tickled his cheek with their soft fingers, seeking to make him laugh, and the sea-fringe curled about the scaly little tail which, like a fish, he had in place of legs. On this particular afternoon he was particularly lonesome.

”Ahoo!” he sobbed. ”I am so unhappy! Ahoo! I want some one to love me very much!”

Now a kind old Stork was sitting on a rock above the baby's head, preening his feathers in a looking-gla.s.s pool. He heard the Sea-child's words, and he spoke in his kind, gruff voice.

”What is the matter, little one?” he asked.

At first the Sea-child was surprised to be addressed by a land bird. But he soon saw that this creature was friendly, and told him all his trouble, as babies do. ”Tut tut!” said the Stork, frowning. ”Your Mer-mother needs a lesson sadly.”

”What is a lesson?” lisped the Sea-child.

But the Stork was busy thinking and did not reply at once. ”How would you like a change?” he asked after a time.

”What is a change?” asked the baby, for he was very young and ignorant.

”You shall see,” answered the Stork, ”if you will take my advice; for I am your friend. Now listen. When next you hear a step upon the rocks do not stir from your cradle, but wait and see what will happen.” Without another word the Stork flapped away, leaving the baby to stare up at the blue sky with the tears still wet upon his cheeks, wondering what the Stork could have meant.

”I will not stir,” he said to himself. ”Whatever happens I will wait and see.”

It was the Stork's business to bring babies to the homes where babies were needed; and sometimes it was very hard to find babies enough. Even now he knew of a house upon the hill where a boy was longing for a little brother to play with. Every night Gil mentioned the matter in his prayers; every night he begged the Stork to bring him a playmate. But though the Stork had hunted far and wide through all the land he could not find a human baby to spare for the cottage on the hill. Now he had a happy idea.