How should she give it to her?  She didn’t dare hand it to her outright, and she was certain Miss Amanda wouldn’t hang any stocking; so just before dark she slipped into Miss Amanda’s sleeping-room, and laid it on the brown cushion just in front of the mirror.

When Elsie had finished her work she went to her room, pinned her child’s stocking to the foot of the bed and slyly tucked in the new suit she had made.  Her own stockings lay flat upon the floor.  Her breath caught a little bit as she noticed them.  “But it doesn’t matter,” she said, “parents never care for themselves if they can give their children pleasure.”

She crept into bed and took her child on her arm.  The night was very cold.  The frost made mysterious noises on the roof in the nail-holes and on the glass.  She went to bed early because the kitchen was so cold.  She thought “we can talk in bed.”  The lock of her door was broken, and she could not shut it tight.  Through this the air came chilly.

* * * * * * *

Miss Amanda put on her flannel wrapper and her bed-slippers and sat down before the open fire in her sleeping-room.  Some way she couldn’t keep her thoughts from that little back attic room.  She went into the hall, silently up the stairs, and stood outside the door.  Elsie was talking softly, but Miss Amanda could hear every word, thanks to the broken lock.

“I have much to tell you to-night, dear child,” she heard the waif say, “the whole story of the Christmas Child.  It was years ago.  His mother was very young, I guess about twice as old as I am.  They hadn’t any house; they were in a barn.  I think there were no houses to rent in that town.  But she fixed a little cradle for Him in the feed-box, and wrapped Him in long clothes, as I do you, my darling.  The angels sang a new song for Him.  A new star shone in the East for Him.  Some men with sheep came to visit Him, and some rich men brought Him lovely presents.  My mother told me all these things, and I mustn’t forget them; it helps me to remember to tell it to you.  So now, this lovely Christmas Child was born in a little bit of a town, the town of — oh, my child” — with a mournful cry — “I’ve forgotten the name of the town!  I used to say it to my mother — it’s the town of, the town of — I can’t remember.”

Miss Amanda could hear her crying a little softly.

“Never mind,” she said presently.  “I am very sorry; I have not told the story often enough.  I wish I had some one to teach me a little, but perhaps it don’t make so much difference if I have forgotten the name of the town.  He came to teach us.  Sure I won’t forget that.  Love can never die.  That’s the present He gave to everybody.  So if nobody else gives us a Christmas present, we always have the one He gave us.”

Silence for a little.

“I am very sorry for Miss Amanda, dear.  She has no child to love.  She has a very sad and lonely life.”

Her teeth chattered a little.  “It seems like a very cold night; the covers are quite thin, but we can never really suffer while our hearts are so warm.  I’m glad you feel real well, and are just as plump as ever, but your little skin is just one bit wrinkled.  You are not going to take cold or be sick?  Oh, I couldn’t give you up!  I should miss you so much, you happy, good little child.”