night and buried them from the
world. It was too far off for Santa Claus in Lithuania, but it was not
too far for peace and good will to men, for the wonder-bearing vision
of the Christ Child. And even in Packingtown they had not forgotten
it--some gleam of it had never failed to break their darkness. Last
Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day Jurgis had toiled on the killing
beds, and Ona at wrapping hams, and still they had found strength
enough to take the children for a walk upon the avenue, to see the store
windows all decorated with Christmas trees and ablaze with electric
lights. In one window there would be live geese, in another marvels in
sugar--pink and white canes big enough for ogres, and cakes with
cherubs upon them; in a third there would be rows of fat yellow turkeys,
decorated with rosettes, and rabbits and squirrels hanging; in a fourth
would be a fairyland of toys--lovely dolls with pink dresses, and woolly
sheep and drums and soldier hats. Nor did they have to go without their
share of all this, either. The last time they had had a big basket with
them and all their Christmas marketing to do--a roast of pork and a
cabbage and some rye bread, and a pair of mittens for Ona, and a rubber
doll that squeaked, and a little green cornucopia full of candy to be
hung from the gas jet and gazed at by half a dozen pairs of longing
eyes.

Even half a year of the sausage machines and the fertilizer mill had not
been able to kill the thought of Christmas in them; there was a choking
in Jurgis' throat as he recalled that the very night Ona had not come
home Teta Elzbieta had taken him aside and shown him an old valentine
that she had picked up in a paper store for three cents--dingy and
shopworn, but with bright colors, and figures of angels and doves.
She had wiped all the specks off this, and was going to set it on the
mantel, where the children could see it. Great sobs shook Jurgis at this
memory--they would spend their Christmas in misery and despair, with
him in prison and Ona ill and their home in desolation. Ah, it was too
cruel! Why at least had they not left him alone--why, after they had
shut him in jail, must they be ringing Christmas chimes in his ears!

But no, their bells were not ringing for him--their Christmas was not
meant for him, they were simply not counting him at all. He was of no
consequence--he was flung aside, like a bit of trash, the carcass of
some animal. It was horrible, horrible! His w