xed, he lay
staring into the darkness till he heard steps upon the ladder, and
became the involuntary witness of--the true St. Nicholas.

It was the mother, with a basket in her hand, and Friedrich watched
her as she approached the place where all the shoes were laid out, his
among them.

The children were by no means immaculate or in any way greatly
superior to other families, but the mother was tender-hearted, and had
a poor memory for sins that were past, and Friedrich saw her fill one
shoe after another with cakes and sweetmeats. At last she came to his,
and then she stopped. He lifted up his head, and an indefinable fury
surged in his heart. He had been very tiresome since the ballad was
begun; was she going to put rods into his shoes only? _His_! He could
have borne anything but this. Meanwhile, she was fumbling in the
basket; and, at last, pulled out--not a rod, but--a paper of cakes of
another kind, to which Friedrich was particularly attached, and with
these she lined the shoes thickly, and filled them up with sweetmeats,
and passed on.

"Oh, mother! mother! Far, far too kind!" The awkwardness and
stupidity of yesterday, and of many yesterdays, smote him to the
heart, and roused once more the only too ready tears. But he did not
cry long, he had a happy feeling of community with his brothers and
sisters in getting more than they any of them deserved; to have seen
the St. Nicholas's proceedings had diverted his mind from gloomy
fancies, and altogether, with a comfortable sensation of cakes and
kindness, he fell asleep smiling, and slept soundly and well.

The next day he threw his arms round his mother, and said that the
cakes were "so nice."

"But I don't deserve them," he added.

"Thou'lt mend," said she kindly. "And no doubt the Saint knew that
thou hadst eaten but half a dinner for a week past, and brought those
cakes to tempt thee; so eat them all, my child; for, doubtless, there
are plenty more where they come from."

"I am very much obliged to whoever did think of it," said Friedrich.

"And plenty more there are," said the good woman to Marie afterwards,
as they were dishing the dinner. "Luise Jansen's shop is full of them.
But, bless the boy! he's too clever for anything. There's no playing
St. Nicholas with him."

The day went by at last, and the evening came on. The tradesman went
off of himself to see if he could meet with the Burgomaster, and the
children became rabid in their impatience