gathered around the green fir-tree to rejoice in the birth-night
of Christ."

So they took the little fir from its place, and carried it in
joyous procession to the edge of the glade, and laid it on the
sledge. The horses tossed their heads and drew their load bravely,
as if the new burden had made it lighter.

When they came to the house of Gundhar, he bade them throw open
the doors of the hall and set the tree in the midst of it. They
kindled lights among the branches until it seemed to be tangled
full of fire-flies. The children encircled it, wondering, and the
sweet odour of the balsam filled the house.

Then Winfried stood beside the chair of Gundhar, on the dais at
the end of the hall, and told the story of Bethlehem; of the babe
in the manger, of the shepherds on the hills, of the host of
angels and their midnight song. All the people listened, charmed
into stillness. But the boy Bernhard, on Irma's knee, folded by
her soft arm, grew restless as the story lengthened, and began to
prattle softly at his mother's ear.

"Mother," whispered the child, "why did you cry out so loud, when
the priest was going to send me to Valhalla?"

"Oh, hush, my child," answered the mother, and pressed him closer
to her side.

"Mother," whispered the boy again, laying his finger on the stains
upon her breast, "see, your dress is red! What are these stains?