n the
camp they were starving, and he was sick almost to death of his hunted,
miserable life. As he plunged through the snow he heard a moan, and he
saw a child sitting at the roots of a tall tree crying. He asked
what was the matter. The child--it was a little boy about five years
old--said that it had run away from home because its nurse had beaten
it, and had lost its way.

"Where do you live?" asked Jean.

"My father is the Sieur de Ranquet," said the child.

At that moment Jean heard the shouts of his companions in the distance.

"I want to go home," said the little boy quietly. "You must take me
home," and he put his hand into Jean's hand and looked up at him and
smiled.

Jean thought for a moment. The boy was richly dressed; he had a large
ruby cross hanging from a golden collar worth many hundred gold pieces.
Jean knew well what would happen if his gipsy companions came across the
child. They would kill it instantly.

"All right," said Jean, "climb on my back."

The little boy climbed on to his back, and Jean trudged through the
snow. In an hour's time they reached the Sieur de Ranquet's castle; the
place was alive with bustling men and flaring torches, for the Sieur's
heir had been missed.

The Sieur looked at Jean and recognised him immediately. Jean was a
public character, and especially well known to the Sieur de Ranquet.
A few words were whispered. The child was sent to bed, and the archers
civilly lead Jean to his dungeon. Jean was tired and sleepy. He fell
asleep at once on the straw. They told him he would have to get up early
the next morning, in time for a long, cold journey. The gallows, they
added, would be ready.

But in the night Jean dreamed a dream: he saw a child in glittering
clothes and with a shining face who came into the dungeon and broke the
bars.

The child said: "I am little St. Nicholas, the children's friend, and I
think you are tired, so I'm going to take you to a quiet place."

Jean followed the child, who led him by the hand till they came to a
nice inn, very high up on the top of huge mountains. There was a blazing
log fire in the room, a clean warm bed, and the windows opened on a
range of snowy mountains, bright as diamonds. And the stars twinkled in
the sky like the candles of a Christmas tree.

"You can go to bed here," said St. Nicholas, "nobody will disturb you,
and when you do wake you will be quite happy and rested. Good-night,
Jean." And he went away.

*