ed the
little Master by the others. He comes here often, and plays
among the flowers of the hill-side. Sometimes the lambs,
gambolling too carelessly, have crushed and bruised us so that
we lie bleeding and are like to die; but the little Master heals
our wounds and refreshes us once again.'

"I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is at
hand,' said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this little
Master of whom you speak.' So we nestled among the verdure of
the hill-side, and sang songs one to another.

"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not
far hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float, away
out into the mists and clouds, if you will come with me.'

"But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the
night wind might not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, old
olive-tree!' cried the violets; 'do you see the little Master
coming? Is not the midnight hour at hand?'

"'I can see the town yonder,' said the old olive-tree. 'A star
beams bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the
little Master comes.'

"Two children came to the hill-side. The one, older than his
comrade, was Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy,
and over his brown shoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leathern
cap did not confine his long, dark curly hair. The other child
was he whom they called the little Master; about his slender
form clung raiment white as snow, and around his face of
heavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful a
child I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as
he. And as they came together to the hill-side, there seemed to
glow about the little Master's head a soft white light, as if
the moon had sent its tenderest, fairest beams to kiss those
golden curls.

"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding
fearful.

"'Have no fear, Dimas,' said the little Master. 'Give me thy
hand and I will lead thee.'

"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd,
lay; and they stood under the old olive-tree, and the old
olive-tree swayed no longer in the night wind, but bent its
branches reverently in the presence of the little Master. It
seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in its shifting course just
then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and you could hear
no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the Messiah's
name.

"'Thy father sleeps,' said the little Master, 'and it