As the two Brothers went on their way, Francis grew light of heart again.  The sight of the shepherds sleeping on the grass had given him a new idea, and he was planning a surprise for his friends at Greccio.  For at Greccio all were his friends, from Sir John, his host, down to the babies in the street.  In the valley of Rieti he was almost as well known and as dearly loved as in his own valley of Assisi.  The children of Greccio had never heard of Christmas trees, nor, perhaps, of Christmas presents.  I am not sure that, in the thirteenth century, Italians had the beautiful custom which they now have of giving presents at Twelfth Night, in memory of the coming of the three kings with their gifts to the Christ Child; but in the thirteenth century, even as now, Christmas was the happiest festival of the year.  This year all the folk of Greccio, big and little, were happier than usual because their beloved Brother Francis was to help them keep their Christmas-tide.  Next day Francis confided his plan to his friend, Sir John, who promised that all should be ready on Christmas Eve.

On the day before Christmas, the people came from all the country around to see and hear Brother Francis.  Men, women and children, dressed in their holiday clothes, walking, riding on donkeys, crowding into little carts drawn by great white oxen, from everywhere and in every fashion, the country folk came toward Greccio.  Many came from far away, and the early winter darkness fell long before they could reach the town.  The light of their torches might be seen on the open road, and the sound of their singing reached the gates of Greccio before them.  That night the little town was almost as crowded as was Bethlehem on the eve of the first Christmas.  The crowds were poor folk, for the most part, peasants from the fields, charcoal burners from the mountains, shepherds in their sheepskin coats and trousers, made with the wool outside, so that the wearers looked like strange, two-legged animals.  The four shepherds who had slept so soundly a few nights before were of the company, but they knew nothing of their midnight visitors.  The white dogs knew, but they could keep a secret.  The shepherds were almost as quiet as their dogs.  They always talked and sang less than other people, having grown used to long silences among their sheep.

Gathered at last into the square before the church, by the light of flaring torches, for the moon would rise late, the people saw with wonder and delight the surprise which Brother Francis and Sir John had prepared for them.  They looked into a real stable.  There was the manger full of hay, there were a live ox and a live ass.  Even by torchlight their breath showed in the frosty air.  And there, on the hay, lay a real baby, wrapped from the cold, asleep and smiling.  It looked as sweet and innocent as the Christ Child Himself.  The people shouted with delight.  They clapped their hands and waved their torches.