At first the Man and the dog regarded the enmity they had aroused in the light of a huge joke; they got a good deal of fun out of fighting.  But the sporting side of the affair ceased to appeal to them when they were compelled to recognize the seriousness of their predicament.  They were absolutely cut off from supplies at a season when food was running short.  They had to sneak out at night at the risk of capture to get anything to eat at all.  They had a sick woman on their hands who cried not for food, but for delicacies.  Instead of gathering strength, she grew steadily weaker.  And then there was the matter of sleep; it was as scarce as food.  They hardly snatched a wink of it.  When they weren’t on guard or fighting, they were soothing her fretfulness, foraging for her or thinking up some new method of keeping her warm.  It was damp in the cave; sunlight rarely tiptoed farther than the entrance.  It didn’t take them long to discover that the hyena’s coat had been as dearly purchased as the forbidden fruit that had lost them the garden.  Peace, which they might have concluded in the early days, was now entirely out of the question.  Even an offer to return the hyena’s coat wouldn’t have made any impression.  They had carried hostilities too far; there wasn’t an animal whom they had not wounded and who wasn’t mad with them clean through from the point of his nose to the tip of his tail.  Often and often, standing in the entrance to his cave, the Man would gaze longingly across the bronzy roof of the forest to the distant shining of the padlocked gates of Eden.  He was farther than ever from the garden now with its tranquil blessedness.  If only he hadn’t learnt to steal!  Stealing had been the cause of his downfall—­first the forbidden fruit and then the hyena’s coat.  If he had been less enterprising and more obedient, he would still have been the friend of God.  After a wakeful night he crept to the entrance to discover that the worst thing of all had happened.

“A worse thing!” you exclaim.  “I thought you were going to tell us a cheerful Christmas story.”

And so I am:  but all the unfortunate part comes first—­that’s the way the robins tell it.  If you’ll be patient and read on, you’ll find this is the very cheerfullest story that was ever told in earth or heaven.  You may not have noticed that we’ve not yet come to the first laugh.  The Woman has smiled and the hyena has scoffed; but no one has laughed.  It’s when we come to the first laugh that the happiness commences.

V

The worst thing of all that the Man discovered when he crept to the cave-entrance after a wakeful night, was this:  with a terrible stealthy silence snow was drifting down so that even the distant shining of the gates of Eden was blotted out.  It was frightening; snow had never fallen in the world before.  If it had, the Man had not seen it.  Within the walls of the garden summer had been perpetual.