o keep her warm."

"But she is warm when she is with me, though I have no coat to wrap her
in," said the Child. And, indeed, he was clad only in a little shirt,
with his rosy legs quite bare. Yet he looked not cold. A brightness
glowed about him, and his breath seemed to warm the air. Pierre saw
that, though it was still snowing beyond them, there were no whirling
flakes between him and the Child.

The little Stranger held out his hand once more. "Please give me the
dove," he begged. "I must hasten on my way to the village yonder. The
dove strayed from my bosom and was lost. You found her here, far from
the road. Thank you, little boy. Are you often so kind to poor lost
birds?"

"Why, they are the Lord's own birds!" cried little Pierre. "How should
one not be kind and love them dearly? On the Lord's birthday eve, too!
It is little that I could do for this one,--I who have saved and fed so
many on other Christmas Eves. Alas, I wish I was back in those good old
days of the wheat-sheaf and the full pan of milk and the bright warm
fire!" Pierre's eyes filled with tears.

"What! Did you set a sheaf of wheat for the birds on Christmas Eve?"
asked the Child, drawing closer and bending kindly eyes upon Pierre.

Now the boy saw that where the Stranger stood the snow had melted all
away, so that they were inclosed in a little space like a downy nest,
which seemed almost warm to his limbs.

"Yes, I set out a wheat-sheaf," said Pierre simply. "Why not? I love all
the little creatures whom our Lord Himself so dearly loved, and to whom
He bade us be kind. On Christmas Eve especially I always tried to make
happy those which He sent in my way,--poor little wanderers as well as
our own friends at home."

The Child drew yet closer and sat down in the snow beside Pierre. His
beautiful eyes shone like stars, and his voice was like sweet music.
"What," he said, "you are the boy who stood in the doorway with a pan of
bread and milk,--part of your own supper,--and called the hungry kitten
to feast? You are the same who tossed a bone to the limping dog and made
him a bed in the stable? You stroked the noses of the ox and the ass and
said gentle things to them, because they were the first friends of the
little Jesus? You set the sheaf of wheat for the snowbirds, and they
lighted upon your hands and shoulders and kissed your lips in gratitude?
You are that boy, friend of God's friends. No wonder that my white dove
flew to you out of the