“‘There is no chance of a voice being raised in her favour,’ I said to myself.  But I was wrong; for at that moment a lovely angel-child flew past me on its blue and white wings.  Without any sign of fear it flew direct to St. Peter, who looked formidable enough with his long beard and great keys, and, pointing with its little forefinger to the hard-hearted woman, cried:  ‘She once gave me a handful of nuts.’

“‘Really,’ answered the keeper of Heaven.  ’That was not much, and yet I am surprised; for that woman would not part with so much as a pin, during her life.  But you little one, who were you on earth?’

“‘Little Hannele was my name,’ answered the angel.  ’I died of starvation, and only once did any one give me anything in my life to make me happy, and that was that woman yonder.’

“‘Marvellous,’ answered Peter, stroking his white beard.  ’No doubt the nuts were given as a miserly payment of some service you did her.’

“‘No, no,’ the angel answered decidedly.

“‘Well, tell us how it happened then,’ the apostle commanded, and the dear little soul obeyed: 

“’My sick mother and I lived in the city all alone, for father was dead.  Just before Christmas we had nothing more to eat.  So mother, though she lay in bed and her head and hands were burning, made some little sheep of bits of wood and cotton and I carried them to the Christmas market.  There I sat on some steps and offered them for sale to the passers-by; but nobody wanted them.  Hours passed, and it was very cold; the open wound in my knee, which no one saw, pained me so, and the frost in my fingers and toes burned and itched dreadfully.  Evening came, the lamps were lighted, but I dared not go home; for only one person had thrown a copper into my lap, and I needed more to buy a bit of bread and a few coals.  My own pangs hurt me, but that mother lay at home alone, with no one to hand her anything, or support her when her breathing became difficult, hurt me still more.  I could hardly bear to sit on the cold steps any longer, and my eyes were blind with tears.  A barrel was set down in front of the house, and while a clerk was rolling it over the sidewalk into the shop, the stream of passers was stopped.  That woman there—­I remember her well—­stood still in front of me.  I offered her one of my sheep, and looked at her through my tears.  She seemed so hard and stern, that I thought:  ‘She won’t give me anything.’  But she did.  It seemed suddenly as if her face grew softer, and her eyes kinder.  She glanced at me, and before I knew it, she had put her hand in the bag which she carried on her arm, and thrown the nuts into my lap.  The cask had been rolled into the shop by this time, and the throng of people carried her along.  She tried to stop.  It was not easy, and she only did it to toss me a second, third, and fourth handful of the most beautiful walnuts.  I can still see it all, as if it were to-day!  Then she felt in her pocket, probably to get some money for me, but the press of people was too strong for her to stand against it longer.  I doubt if she heard that I thanked her.’