ticed
this, and also wondering at the mysterious advent of the child, which
coming so closely upon his song, caused him almost to think that he must
be dreaming.

"Art thou the Christchild?" he said finally, to the little figure which
stood with its back toward him gazing up at the branch of hemlock above
the fireplace.

The child turned around and looking merrily at Crescimir, broke into a
fit of boisterous laughter, but did not answer.

"Thou art not a very polite little boy, to break into a house this way
and then not answer a simple question. Thou art no Austrian Christchild,
I am sure of that. No matter," he added, as he saw the little face
pucker up for a cry, "wait till we are better acquainted and then we can
talk it all over."

The child smiled again and made a sign indicating that he wanted the
hemlock branch above his head. Crescimir took it down for him and as
soon as the little creature received it, he began hopping about the
room, holding the branch aloft and humming the melody which Crescimir
had just been singing.

"Truly, thou art a strange little elf, but I know how to tell if thou
art mortal. Wilt thou have thy supper?" and he held out a spoonful of
the bread and milk to the dancing figure. The child immediately stopped
his whirling, and running to Crescimir, eagerly ate the food, and then
climbing into his lap, sat there quietly, with expectant face as if
anticipating a share in the rest of the supper. So Crescimir took one
spoonful and the Christchild the next, until the bowl was empty.

"I am glad that thou art come, little one," said Crescimir, as he held
the child in his arms, seated in the wooden armchair before the fire.
"Thou hast made my Christmas Eve a very pleasant one, but I wish that I
could know who thou art and whether thy parents are anxiously searching
for thee this stormy night. Canst thou not speak?"

The child shook his golden head solemnly and began throwing bits of the
hemlock into the flames, watching the blaze they made as if he could
read in it.

Crescimir had spoken in German and the little waif understood him, but
it seemed that he was unable to answer except in a cooing sound
expressive of his sensations; however, he could sing most sweetly, not
articulating, but singing as a bird and making beautiful melody. The
song which Crescimir had been singing when he entered, seemed to please
his ear greatly and he warbled it over again in his strangely sweet
tones. Cresc