On the morrow all the village went to see the image of the Christ Child lying in a manger near the high altar of the church.  It was a sweet little Child in a white shirt, clasping in his hands a dove.  They believed him to have come in the stormy night down the village street.  And they were glad that their pious candles in the windows had guided Him safely on the road.  But little Pierre, while he sang in the choir, and his adopted parents, the Viauds, kneeling happily below, had sweet thoughts of a dream which had brought them all together.

Who knows but that Prince at home happily guarding Pierre’s snow-wet old shoes—­who knows but that Prince was dreaming the happiest dream of all?  For only Prince knew how and where and under what guidance he had found the little friend of the Lord’s friends sleeping in the snow, with but a white dove in his bosom to keep him from becoming a boy of ice.

WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO

COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI

In a certain city dwelt Martin Avdyeeich, the cobbler.  He lived in a cellar, a wretched little hole with a single window.  The window looked up towards the street, and through it Martin could just see the passers-by.  It is true that he could see little more than their boots, but Martin Avdyeeich could read a man’s character by his boots, so he needed no more.  Martin Avdyeeich had lived long in that one place, and had many acquaintances.  Few indeed were the boots in that neighborhood which had not passed through his hands at some time or other.  On some he would fasten new soles, to others he would give side-pieces, others again he would stitch all round, and even give them new uppers if need be.  And often he saw his own handiwork through the window.  There was always lots of work for him, for Avdyeeich’s hand was cunning and his leather good; nor did he overcharge, and he always kept his word.  He always engaged to do a job by a fixed time if he could; but if he could not, he said so at once, and deceived no man.  So every one knew Avdyeeich, and he had no lack of work.  Avdyeeich had always been a pretty good man, but as he grew old he began to think more about his soul, and draw nearer to his God.  While Martin was still a journeyman his wife had died; but his wife had left him a little boy—­three years old.  Their other children had not lived.  All the eldest had died early.  Martin wished at first to send his little child into the country to his sister, but afterwards he thought better of it.  “My Kapitoshka,” thought he, “will feel miserable in a strange household.  He shall stay here with me.”  And so Avdyeeich left his master, and took to living in lodgings alone with his little son.  But God did not give Avdyeeich happiness in his children.  No sooner had the little one begun to grow up and be a help and a joy to his father’s heart, than a sickness fell upon Kapitoshka, the little one took to his bed, lay there in a raging fever for a week, and then died.  Martin buried his son in despair—­so desperate was he that he began to murmur against God.  Such disgust of life overcame him that he more than once begged God that he might die; and he reproached God for taking not him, an old man, but his darling, his only son, instead.  And after that Avdyeeich left off going to church.