This was the moment when people in the valleys are accustomed to light their candles.  At first, only one is kindled, in order to make light in the room; or, possibly, only a pine-splinter; or the fire is burning in the hearth, and all windows of human habitations grow bright and shed lustre into the snowy night; but all the more tonight, Christmas evening, when many more lights were kindled, in order to shine full upon the presents for the children which lay upon the tables or hung on the trees—­innumerable candles were lit; for in nearly every house, every cot, every room, there were children for whom the Christ-child had brought presents which had to be shown by the light of candles.

The boy had thought one could very quickly come down from the mountain and yet, not a single one of the lights burning that night in the valley shone up to them.  They saw nothing but the pale snow and the dark sky, all else was rendered invisible by the distance.  At this hour, the children in all valleys were receiving their Christmas presents.  These two alone sat up there by the edge of the glacier and the finest presents meant for them on this day lay in little sealed packages in the calfskin bag in the rear of the cave.

The snow-clouds had sunk below the mountains on all sides and a vault entirely dark-blue, almost black, full of densely clustered burning stars extended above the children; and through the midst of them was woven a shimmering broad milky band which they had, indeed, seen also below in the valley, but never so distinctly.  The night was advancing.  The children did not know that the stars change their position and move toward the west, else they might have recognized the hour of night by their progress.  New stars came and the old ones disappeared, but they believed them to be always the same.  It grew somewhat brighter about the children by the radiance of the stars; but they saw no valley, no known places, but everywhere white—­only white.  Only some dark peak, some dark knob became visible looming up out of the shimmering waste.  The moon was nowhere to be seen in the heavens, perhaps it had set early with the sun, or it had not yet risen.

After a long time the boy said:  “Sanna, you must not sleep; for do you remember what father said, that if one sleeps in the mountains one will freeze to death, as the old hunter slept and sat four months dead on that stone and no one had known where he was.”

“No, I shall not sleep,” said the little girl feebly.  Conrad had shaken her by a corner of her coat, in order to make her listen to his words.

Then there was silence again.

After a little while, the boy felt a soft pressure against his arm which became ever heavier.  Sanna had fallen asleep and had sunk over toward him.

“Sanna, don’t sleep, please, don’t sleep!” he said.

“No,” she mumbled drowsily, “I shall not sleep.”

He moved farther away from her, in order to make her move; she toppled over and would have continued sleeping on the ground.  He took hold of her shoulder and shook her.  As he moved a little more, he noticed that he was feeling cold himself and that his arm had grown numb.  He was frightened and jumped up.  He seized his sister, shook her more vigorously and said, “Sanna, get up a little, we want to stand up a little so that we shall feel better.”