cked a voice among the choir-boys; how
he was on his way thither when the storm had hidden the road, and he had
grown so cold, so cold!

"Then your dove came to me, little Stranger," Pierre concluded. "She came,
and I folded her in my jacket to keep her warm. But, do you know, it must
be that she has kept _me_ warm. Although I could walk no further, I am not
cold at all, nor frightened, and no longer hungry. Sit close to me, little
Stranger. You shall share my jacket, too, and we will all three warm one
another."

The Child laughed again, a low, soft, silvery laugh, like a happy brook
slipping over the pebbles. "I am not cold," he said. "I cannot stay with
you. I must go yonder." And he pointed through the snow.

"Whither, oh, whither?" cried Pierre eagerly. "Let me go with you. I am
lost; but if you know the way we can go together, hand in hand."

The Child shook his head. "Not so," he said. "I do not follow the path,
and your feet would stumble. I shall find a way without sinking in the
snow. I must go alone. But there is a better way for you. I leave my dove
with you: she will keep you warm until help comes. Farewell, friend of the
Lord's friends." Stooping the Child kissed Pierre once more, upon the
forehead. Then, before the boy saw how he went, he had vanished from the
little nest of snow, without leaving a footprint behind.

Now the dove, clasped close to Pierre's heart, seemed to warm him like a
little fire within; and the Child's kiss on his forehead made him so
happy, but withal so drowsy, that he smiled as he closed his eyes once
more repeating, "'Until help comes.' 'There is a better way' for me."

II

On the side of the mountain, away from the village street, perched the
little hut of Grandfather Viaud. And here, on Christmas Eve, sat the old
man and his wife, looking very sad and lonely. For there was no sound of
childish laughter in the little hut, no patter of small feet, no
whispering of Christmas secrets. The little Viauds had long since grown up
and flown away to build nests of their own in far-off countries. Poor
Josef Viaud and old Bettine were quite alone this Christmas Eve, save for
the Saint Bernard who was stretched out before the fire, covering half the
floor with his huge bulk, like a furry rug. He was the very Prince of
dogs, as his name betokened, and he was very good to Grandfather and
Grandmother, who loved him dearly. But on Christmas Eve even the littlest
cottage, crowded with