you
of the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule the
world and teach all men to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts. Come
with us, Babouscka."

But Babouscka looked at the drifting snow, and then inside at her cozy
room and the crackling fire. "It is too late for me to go with you, good
sirs," she said, "the weather is too cold." She went inside again and
shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem without her.
But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to think about the
Little Christ-Child, for she loved all babies.

"To-morrow I will go to find Him," she said; "to-morrow, when it is
light, and I will carry Him some toys."

So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak and took her
staff, and filled her basket with the pretty things a baby would
like--gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs--and
she set out to find the Christ-Child.

But, oh, Babouscka had forgotten to ask the three old men the road to
Bethlehem, and they travelled so far through the night that she could
not overtake them. Up and down the road she hurried, through woods
and fields and towns, saying to whomsoever she met: "I go to find the
Christ-Child. Where does He lie? I bring some pretty toys for His sake."

But no one could tell her the way to go, and they all said: "Farther on,
Babouscka, farther on." So she travelled on and on and on for years and
years--but she never found the little Christ-Child.

They say that old Babouscka is travelling still, looking for Him.
When it comes Christmas Eve, and the children are lying fast asleep,
Babouscka comes softly through the snowy fields and towns, wrapped in
her long cloak and carrying her basket on her arm. With her staff she
raps gently at the doors and goes inside and holds her candle close to
the little children's faces.

"Is He here?" she asks. "Is the little Christ-Child here?" And then
she turns sorrowfully away again, crying: "Farther on, farther on!" But
before she leaves she takes a toy from her basket and lays it beside the
pillow for a Christmas gift. "For His sake," she says softly, and
then hurries on through the years and forever in search of the little
Christ-Child.

XXIII. CHRISTMAS IN THE BARN*

* From "In the Child's World," by Emilie Poulssen, Milton Bradley Co.,
Publishers. Used by permission.

F. ARNSTEIN

Only two more days and Christmas would be here! It had been snowing
hard, and Joh