turned,
and laying her head on his shoulder, began to sob softly.

"There, there," he said, patting her arm awkwardly.

"Don't you go and cry now. Let's just be thankful to the good Lord for
puttin' such fellers into the world as them fellers down the road. And
now you run in and hurry up breakfast while I do up the chores. Then
we'll hitch up and get into town 'fore the stores close. Tell the young
'uns Santy didn't get round last night with their things, but we've got
word to meet him in town. Hey? Yes, I saw just the kind of sled Pete
wants when I was up yesterday, and that china doll for Mollie. Yes,
tell 'em anything you want. Twon't be too big. Santy Claus has come to
Roney's ranch this year, sure!"

XXXIV. LITTLE GRETCHEN AND THE WOODEN SHOE*

* From "Christmastide," published by the Chicago Kindergarten College,
copyright 1902.

ELIZABETH HARRISON

The following story is one of many which has drifted down to us from the
story-loving nurseries and hearthstones of Germany. I cannot recall when
I first had it told to me as a child, varied, of course, by different
tellers, but always leaving that sweet, tender impression of God's
loving care for the least of his children. I have since read different
versions of it in at least a half-dozen story books for children.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in a
country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the edge
of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to the
north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room in
it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square
window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an
old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a
thin, blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.

Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who lived
in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people. One
was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of the
village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had come
into the world with the huge mountains, and the great fir-trees, which
stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled all over
with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read aright,
would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy, self-sacrifice,
of loving, anxious watching besid