child to receive for Him. They came back to the poor booth close
to where I was standing. It was piled with warm garments; and
after much consultation a little white vest was chosen--the elder
child rejected pink, she knew the Christkind would like white best-
-then they trotted off down a narrow turning to the church, and I
followed.

The Creche stood without the chancel, between the High Altar and
that of Our Lady of Sorrows. It was very simple. A blue paper
background spangled with stars; a roughly thatched roof supported
on four rude posts; at the back, ox and ass lying among the straw
with which the ground was strewn. The figures were life-size, of
carved and painted wood: Joseph, tall and dignified, stood as
guardian, leaning on his staff; Mary knelt with hands slightly
uplifted in loving adoration; and the Babe lay in front on a truss
of straw disposed as a halo. It was the World's Child, and the
position emphasised it. Two or three hard-featured peasants knelt
telling their beads; and a group of children with round, blue eyes
and stiff, flaxen pigtails, had gathered in front, and were
pointing and softly whispering. My little friends trotted up,
crossed themselves; it was evidently the little one's first visit.

"Guck! guck mal an," she cried, clapping her fat gloved hands,
"sieh mal an das Wickelkind!"

"Dass ist unser Jesu," said the elder, and the little one echoed
"Unser Jesu, unser Jesu!"

Then the vest was brought out and shown--why not, it was the
Christchild's own?--and the pair trotted away again followed by the