bright, patient Sister. Presently everyone clattered out, and I
was left alone at the crib of Bethlehem, the gate of the Kingdom of
Heaven.

It was my family, my only family; but like the ever-widening circle
on the surface of a lake into which a stone has been flung, here,
from this great centre, spread the wonderful ever-widening
relationship--the real brotherhood of the world. It is at the Crib
that everything has its beginning, not at the Cross; and it is only
as little children that we can enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.

When I went out again into the streets it was nearly dark. Anxious
mothers hurried past on late, mysterious errands; papas who were
not wanted until the last moment chatted gaily to each other at
street corners, and exchanged recollections; maidservants hastened
from shop to shop with large baskets already heavily laden; and the
children were everywhere, important with secrets, comfortably
secure in the knowledge of a tree behind the parlour doors, and a
kindly, generous Saint who knew all their wants, and needed no rod
THIS year.

One little lad, with a pinched white face, and with only an empty
certainty to look forward to, was singing shrilly in the sharp,
still air, "Zu Bethlehem geboren, ist uns ein Kindelein," as he
gazed wistfully at a shop window piled high with crisp gingerbread,
marzipan, chocolate under every guise, and tempting cakes. A great
rough peasant coming out, saw him, turned back, and a moment later
thrust a gingerbread Santa Klaus, with currant eyes and sugar
trimming to his coat and cap, into the half-fearful little hands.
"Hab' ebenso ein Kerlchen zu Haus'," he said to me apologetically