hristmas tree, and many know that the pretty
and pleasant custom of hanging gifts on its boughs comes from Germany;
but perhaps few have heard or read the story that is told to little
German children, respecting the origin of this custom. The story is
called "The Little Stranger," and runs thus:

In a small cottage on the borders of a forest lived a poor laborer, who
gained a scanty living by cutting wood. He had a wife and two children
who helped him in his work. The boy's name was Valentine, and the girl
was called Mary. They were obedient, good children, and a great comfort
to their parents. One winter evening, this happy little family were
sitting quietly round the hearth, the snow and the wind raging outside,
while they ate their supper of dry bread, when a gentle tap was heard on
the window, and a childish voice cried from without: "Oh, let me in,
pray! I am a poor little child, with nothing to eat, and no home to go
to, and I shall die of cold and hunger unless you let me in."

Valentine and Mary jumped up from the table and ran to open the door,
saying: "Come in, poor little child! We have not much to give you, but
whatever we have we will share with you."

The stranger-child came in and warmed his frozen hands and feet at the
fire, and the children gave him the best they had to eat, saying: "You
must be tired, too, poor child! Lie down on our bed; we can sleep on the
bench for one night."

Then said the little stranger-child: "Thank God for all your kindness to
me!"

So they took their little guest into their sleeping-room, laid him on
the bed, covered him over, and said to each other: "How thankful we
ought to be! We have warm rooms and a cozy bed, while this poor child
has only heaven for his roof and the cold earth for his sleeping-place."

When their father and mother went to bed, Mary and Valentine lay quite
contentedly on the bench near the fire, saying, before they fell asleep:
"The stranger-child will be so happy to-night in his warm bed!"

These kind children had not slept many hours before Mary awoke and
softly whispered to her brother: "Valentine, dear, wake, and listen to
the sweet music under the window."

Then Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. It was sweet music indeed,
and sounded like beautiful voices singing to the tones of a harp:

"O holy Child, we greet thee! bringing
Sweet strains of harp to aid our singing.

"Thou, holy Child, in peace art sleeping,