is wretched cubbyhole.

Desolate, the child went to bed in the dark and soon fell asleep, but
his pillow was wet with tears.

But behold! the next morning when the old woman, awakened early by the
cold, went downstairs--oh, wonder of wonders--she saw the big chimney
filled with shining toys, bags of magnificent bonbons, and riches of
every sort, and standing out in front of all this treasure, was the
right wooden shoe which the boy had given to the little vagabond, yes,
and beside it, the one which she had placed in the chimney to hold the
bunch of switches.

As little Wolff, attracted by the cries of his aunt, stood in an ecstasy
of childish delight before the splendid Christmas gifts, shouts of
laughter were heard outside. The woman and child ran out to see what all
this meant, and behold! all the gossips of the town were standing around
the public fountain. What could have happened? Oh, a most ridiculous and
extraordinary thing! The children of the richest men in the town, whom
their parents had planned to surprise with the most beautiful presents
had found only switches in their shoes!

Then the old woman and the child thinking of all the riches in their
chimney were filled with fear. But suddenly they saw the priest appear,
his countenance full of astonishment. Just above the bench placed near
the door of the church, in the very spot where, the night before, a
child in a white garment and with bare feet, in spite of the cold, had
rested his lovely head, the priest had found a circlet of gold imbedded
in the old stones.

Then, they all crossed themselves devoutly, perceiving that this
beautiful sleeping child with the carpenter's tools had been Jesus of
Nazareth himself, who had come back for one hour just as he had been
when he used to work in the home of his parents; and reverently they
bowed before this miracle, which the good God had done to reward the
faith and the love of a little child.

XVI. CHRISTMAS IN THE ALLEY*

* From "Kristy's Queer Christmas," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904.

OLIVE THORNE MILLER

"I declare for 't, to-morrow is Christmas Day an' I clean forgot all
about it," said old Ann, the washerwoman, pausing in her work and
holding the flatiron suspended in the air.

"Much good it'll do us," growled a discontented voice from the coarse
bed in the corner.

"We haven't much extra, to be sure," answered Ann cheerfully, bringing
the iron down onto the shirt-bosom before her, "but a