g all over his gala caparison.
Papa Noel, mounted on the pyramid of presents, bowed right and left and
waved his hands to the children, to the soldiers, to the old men and the
old women.

As the youngsters followed in the wake of the sleigh, the soldiers
picked them up and carried them on their shoulders, on "piggy" back, or
held them out so they could shake hands with Papa Noel and hear that
dignitary gurgle his appreciation in wonderful north pole language.

When Papa Noel found out that he could trust the flour paste and did not
have to hold his whiskers on by biting them, he gravely announced, "Wee,
wee," to all the bright-eyed, red-cheeked salutations directed his way.

The band halted in front of the ancient church of Saint Thiebault, where
old Father Gabrielle stood in the big doorway, smiling and rubbing his
hands. Upon his invitation the children entered and were placed in the
first row of chairs, the mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, and young
women sat in back of them, and further back sat the regimental officers.
The soldiers filled the rest of the church to the doors.

The brief ceremony ended with a solemn benediction and then the curtains
were drawn back from one of the arches in front of and to the left of
the main altar.

There stood Saint Thiebault's first Christmas tree, or at least the
first one in four years. It was lighted with candles and was resplendent
with decorations that represented long hours of work with shears and
paste on the part of unaccustomed fingers. Suggestions from a thousand
Christmas minds were on that tree, and the result showed it. The star of
Bethlehem, made of tinsel, glistened in the candlelight.

Not even the inbred decorum of the church was sufficient to restrain the
involuntary expressions of admiration of the saint by the seventy
youngsters. They oh-ed and ah-ed and pointed, but they enjoyed it not a
whit more than did the other children in the church, some of whose ages
ran to three score and more.

Papa Noel walked down the centre aisle leading a file of soldiers, each
of whom carried a heaping armful of packages. Young necks craned and
eyes bulged as the packages were deposited on the tables in front of the
communion rail. M. Lecompte raised his hands for silence and spoke.

"These Americans," he said, "have come to our country to march and to
fight side by side with your fathers and your big brothers and your
uncles and all the men folk who have been away