--who still talk of the legends of
Rubezahl, the counter of turnips (the mountain spirit), who took all
kinds of disguises to punish avarice and cruelty, and to reward honesty
and help the poor. Among the poor went our dear mistress now, or they
came to her for sympathy; she who, like themselves, like all of us,
except brotherless young ones such as Bertha, grieved for a lover, or a
husband, or a brother, gone to the war. It was not likely to be a merry
Christmastide in Germanland, except that the news of victory, or of
fortresses taken, came and stirred the slow blood of the people who were
left. But we longed and prayed for peace--we women did at all
events--and with some there was scarcely heart to trim and deck the
Christmas-tree; to tell the children to prepare for the visit of the
Christ Kindlein on Christmas Eve, who would bring good gifts to the
good, but would leave the naughty to Pelsnichol to come and whip them
with his great birch. In some villages like ours an old man disguised
with a long beard and gown, and a great bag, would go about at
Christmastide to the houses where the people had expected him, and would
carry the gifts to the children, and would show others who were naughty
the birch, and give them nothing. But we had no Pelsnichol at our house,
only sweet talk about the child Christ, and the gifts of the wise men,
and of the love that should be among little ones--the love and the
heart-giving.

So the tree was decked, and placed in the window ready to light on
Christmas Eve, in the hope that it might be a sign of love and welcome.
And we were on the watch all day, and every night Bertha would go out
and sit upon the wall, looking out towards the road to the town, until
the light was no more seen in the belfry of the church, and the clock
chimed supper-time. I told not our dear mistress of this, for was it not
for Franz and the dear master that the child kept watch?--but I went not
myself to that outlook, though my heart stood still every time Bertha
returned, with her head bent down, and had seen no one coming. She had a
presentiment or fancy, she said, that the wanderer would return after
nightfall. I knew not,--I began to tell lies to myself that I cared
not,--and for this reason; I had long feared that the Herr postmaster
liked not me to be loved by his son; for behold he was postmaster, and
had been a builder of organs, and the dear master was godfather to
Franz, while I--well, I had nothing, b