“I know it,” said the young angel, “but in meekness will he answer them; and to those who become as little children he will give the heavenly wisdom that comes, without seeking, to the pure and gentle of heart.”

“But if he becomes a man,” said Michael, “evil men will hate and persecute him:  they may even take his life, if they are stronger than he.”

“I know it,” answered the young angel, “they will nail him to a cross.  But when he is lifted up, he will draw all men unto him, for he will still be the Son of God, and no heart that is open to love can help loving him, since his love for men is so great that he is willing to die for them.”

“But how do you know these things?” cried the other angels.  “Who are you?”

“I am the Christmas angel,” he said.  “At first I was sent as the dream of a little child, a holy child, blessed and wonderful, to dwell in the heart of a pure virgin, Mary of Nazareth.  There I was hidden till the word came to call me back to the throne of the King, and tell me my name, and give me my new message.  For this is Christmas day on Earth, and to-day the Son of God is born of a woman.  So I must fly quickly, before the sun rises, to bring the good news to those happy men who have been chosen to receive them.”

As he said this, the young angel rose, with arms outspread, from the green meadow of Peacefield and, passing over the bounds of Heaven, dropped swiftly as a shooting-star toward the night shadow of the Earth.  The other angels followed him—­a throng of dazzling forms, beautiful as a rain of jewels falling from the dark-blue sky.  But the child-angel went more swiftly than the others, because of the certainty of gladness in his heart.

And as the others followed him they wondered who had been favoured and chosen to receive the glad tidings.

“It must be the Emperor of the World and his counsellors,” they thought.  But the flight passed over Rome.

“It may be the philosophers and the masters of learning,” they thought.  But the flight passed over Athens.

“Can it be the High Priest of the Jews, and the elders and the scribes?” they thought.  But the flight passed over Jerusalem.

It floated out over the hill country of Bethlehem; the throng of silent angels holding close together, as if perplexed and doubtful; the child-angel darting on far in advance, as one who knew the way through the darkness.

The villages were all still:  the very houses seemed asleep; but in one place there was a low sound of talking in a stable, near to an inn—­a sound as of a mother soothing her baby to rest.

All over the pastures on the hillsides a light film of snow had fallen, delicate as the veil of a bride adorned for the marriage; and as the child-angel passed over them, alone in the swiftness of his flight, the pure fields sparkled round him, giving back his radiance.