f EXJIBRB UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 JOHN HENRY NASH LIBRARY 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 PRESENTED TO THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 ROBERT GORDON SPROUL, PRESIDENT. 
 
 MR.ANDMRS.MILTON S.RAV 
 
 CECILY, VIRGINIA AND ROSALYN RAY 
 
 AND THE 
 
 RAY OIL BURNEROOMPANY 
 
^f ^*s&^*^&iC*s\^ 
 
THE 
 
 POTATO CHILD 
 OTHERS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CHARLES J. WOODBURY 
 
 FRONTISPIECE AFTER A 
 BAS-RELIEF BY ELIZABETH FERREA 
 
 If only our help 
 
 could begin as soon as 
 
 our hindrance does 
 
 PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO 
 
Copyright, 1910 
 
 by PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
 
 San Francisco 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS . 
 
 PACK 
 
 I 
 
 15 
 23 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 IT WAS certain that Elsie had a very hard 
 and solitary life. 
 When Miss Amanda had selected her 
 from among the girls at "The Home," the 
 motherly matron felt sorry. 
 
 " She is a tender-hearted little thing, and a kind 
 word goes a great way with Elsie." 
 
 Miss Amanda looked at the matron as if she 
 were speaking Greek, and said nothing. It was 
 quite plain that few words, either kind or unkind, 
 would pass Miss Amanda's lips. But "The 
 Home" was more than full, and Miss Amanda 
 Armstrong was a person well known as the lead- 
 ing dressmaker in the city, a person of some 
 money; not obliged to work now if she didn't 
 wish to. " If cold, she is at least perfectly just," 
 they all said. 
 
 So Elsie went to work for Miss Amanda, and 
 lived in the kitchen. She waited on the door, 
 washed the dishes, cleaned the vegetables, and set 
 the table (Miss Amanda lived alone, and ate in 
 the kitchen). Every Friday she swept the house. 
 Her bed was in a little room in the back attic. 
 
 When she came, Miss Amanda handed her a 
 dress and petticoat, and a pair of shoes. " These 
 are to last six months," she said, " and see you 
 keep yourself clean." She gave her also one 
 change of stockings and underclothes. 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 " Here is your room ; you do not need a light 
 to go to bed by, and it is not healthy to sleep 
 under too many covers." 
 
 It wasn't so much what Miss Amanda did to 
 her, for she never struck her, nor in any way ill- 
 treated her; nor was it so much what she said, for 
 she said almost nothing. But she said it all in 
 commands, and the loving little Elsie was just 
 driven into herself. 
 
 She had had a darling mother, full of love and 
 tenderness, and Elsie would say to herself, cc I 
 must not forget the things mama told me, * Love 
 can never die, and kind words can never die/ ' 
 But she had no one to love, and she never heard 
 any kind words ; so she was a bit worried. " I 
 shall forget how kind words sound, and I shall 
 forget how to love," sighed the little girl. 
 
 She used to long for a doll or cat or some- 
 thing she could call her own and talk to. She 
 asked Miss Amanda, who said <c No." She added, 
 <c I have no money to give for such foolishness as 
 a doll, and a cat would eat its head off." 
 
 Miss Amanda had been blessed with no little- 
 girl time. When she was young, she always had 
 been forced to work hard, and she thought it was 
 no worse for Elsie than it had been for herself. 
 I don't suppose it was; but one looking in on 
 these two could not but feel for both of them. 
 
 Elsie would try to talk to herself a little at 
 night, but it was cheerless. Then she would lift 
 up her knee, and draw the sheet about it for a 
 hood, and call it a little girl. She named it Nancy 
 Pullam, and would try to love that; but it almost 
 broke her back when she tried to hug Nancy. 
 " Oh, if I had something to be good to" ! she said. 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 So she began greeting the ladies, when she 
 opened the door, with a cheerful little " Good- 
 morning " or "Good afternoon." 
 
 "I wouldn't do that/' said Miss Amanda, "it 
 looks forward and pert. It is their place to say 
 c Good morning/ not yours. You have no occasion 
 to speak to your betters, and, anyway, children 
 should be seen and not heard." 
 
 One day, a never-forgotten day, she went down 
 cellar to the bin of potatoes to select some for 
 dinner. She was sorting them over and laying 
 out all of one size, when she took up quite a 
 long one, and lo! it had a little face on it and 
 two eyes and a little hump between for a nose 
 and a long crack below that made a very pretty 
 mouth. 
 
 Elsie looked at it joyfully. " It will make me a 
 child," she said, " no matter if it has no arms or 
 legs ; the face is everything." 
 
 She carefully placed it at the end of the bin, 
 and whenever she could slip away without neglect- 
 ing her work would run down cellar and talk 
 softly to it. 
 
 But one day her potato-child was gone ! Elsie's 
 heart gave a big jump, and then fell like lead, and 
 seemed to lie perfectly still ; but it commenced to 
 beat again, beat and ache, beat and ache! 
 
 She tried to look for the changeling; but the 
 tears made her so that she couldn't see very well ; 
 and there were so many potatoes! She looked 
 every moment she had a chance all the next day, 
 and cried a great deal. " I can never be real happy 
 again," she thought. 
 
 " Don't cry any more," said Miss Amanda, "it 
 does not look well when you open the door for 
 
 [3] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 my customers. You have enough to eat and wear ; 
 what more do you want ? " 
 
 "Something to love," said Elsie, but not 
 very loud. 
 
 She tried not to cry again, and then she felt 
 worse not to shed tears, when, perhaps, her dear 
 little potato-child was eaten up. 
 
 Two days after, as she was still searching, a 
 little piece of white paper in the far dark corner 
 attracted her attention. She went over and lifted 
 it up. Behind it was a hole, and partly in and 
 partly out of the hole lay her potato-child. I 
 think a rat had dragged it out of the bin. She 
 hugged it to her heart, and cried for joy. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, you have come back to me, 
 you have come back ! And then it seemed as if 
 the pink eyes of the potato-child looked up into 
 Elsie's in affectionate gratitude; and it became 
 plain to Elsie that her child loved her. She was 
 so thankful that she even kissed the little piece 
 of white paper. " If it hadn't been for you I would 
 never have found my child. I mean to keep you 
 always," she said, and she wrapped it about her 
 potato-child, and put them in her bosom. "We 
 must never be parted again," she murmured. 
 
 At supper, with many misgivings, she un- 
 wrapped her treasure for Miss Amanda, and asked 
 if she could keep it as her own. " I won't eat 
 any potato for dinner tomorrow if you will give 
 me this," she said. 
 
 "Well," answered Miss Amanda, "I don't 
 know as it will do any harm; why do you 
 want it?" 
 
 " It is my potato-child. I want to love it." 
 
 " See you lose no time, then," said Miss Amanda. 
 
 [4] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 And afterward, Elsie never called the potato 
 //, but always "my child/* 
 
 She found a fragment of calico, large enough 
 for a dress and skirt, with enough over, a queer, 
 three-cornered piece, which she pinned about the 
 unequal shoulders for a shawl. Upon the bonnet 
 she worked for days. 
 
 All this sewing was a great joy to her. Last 
 of all, she begged a bit of frayed muslin from 
 the sweepings for a night-dress. Then she could 
 undress her baby every night. 
 
 She must have heard a tiny tuber-voice, for she 
 said, " Now I can never forget the sound of lov- 
 ing words, and the world is full of joy." 
 
 Elsie had a candle-box in her room, with the 
 cover hung on hinges. It served the double pur- 
 pose of a trunk and a seat. She put her child's 
 clothes and the scrap of white paper in this box. 
 In the daytime she let her child sit upon the 
 window-sill so she could see the blue sky; but 
 when the weather grew colder she took her down 
 to the kitchen each morning, lest she should suffer. 
 
 Sometimes, Miss Amanda watched her closely. 
 "She does her work well, but she is a queer 
 thing. She makes me uneasy," she thought. 
 
 Christmas was coming. Elsie and her mother 
 had always loved Christmas, and had invariably 
 given some gift to each other. After their stock- 
 ings were hung side by side, Christmas Eve, her 
 mother would take her in her lap and tell her the 
 Christmas story. So now it was a great mercy for 
 Elsie that she had her child to work for. 
 
 One day, when she had scrubbed the pantry 
 floor unusually clean, Miss Amanda gave her the 
 privilege of the rag barrel. This resulted in a new 
 
 [5] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 Christmas suit of silk and velvet for baby ; and 
 this she made. 
 
 When Elsie left "The Home" the matron 
 had given her a little needle-book containing a 
 spool of thread and thimble for a good-by present. 
 These now came into good play. She used the 
 lamp shears to cut with. 
 
 When all was done the babe looked beautiful, 
 except that it had no stockings. It had not even 
 legs. " I'll make her a wooden leg, and let her 
 be a cripple, then I shall love her all the better." 
 
 But after she had made the leg, and a very 
 good one, too, she hadn't the heart to break the 
 skin of her child, and push it in. 
 
 "I'll make the stockings without legs," she 
 said, and so she did. 
 
 Elsie was very careful never to let her child 
 see, or mention before her, how busy she was for 
 Christmas. 
 
 She felt very sorry for Miss Amanda, and wished 
 she had something to give her, but she could think 
 of nothing except the piece of white paper she 
 found with her potato-child. The afternoon be- 
 fore Christmas she took it from the candle-box, 
 and smoothed it out upon the cover. It had some 
 writing upon one side. Elsie thought it was very 
 pretty writing it had so many flourishes. Elsie 
 could not read it, of course, but she hoped Miss 
 Amanda would like it. 
 
 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. 
 
 [6] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 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. 
 
 [7] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 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 for- 
 gotten 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 every- 
 body. 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." 
 
 Miss Amanda heard a kiss. " Good-night, dear. 
 I 'm so tired. God bless us all, and help us to 
 
 m 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 remember Miss Amanda, and let her find her 
 present to-night" 
 
 Miss Amanda crept back to her warm room, 
 and waited until she was sure the child was fast 
 asleep. Then she took a down quilt off the foot 
 of her own bed, picked up her candle, and re- 
 traced her way up-stairs. 
 
 She softly dropped the comforter upon Elsie. 
 She heard, as a sort of echo, a soft sigh of 
 content. Miss Amanda waited a moment, then 
 shading the candle with one hand, she looked at 
 the sleeping child. 
 
 The face was pale and thin. The lashes lay 
 dark upon the white cheeks. They were quite 
 wet; but, pressed close to them, and carefully 
 covered by little, toil-hardened hands, was the 
 grotesque potato in its white night-gown. 
 
 Miss Amanda was surprised by a queer click 
 in her throat, and hurried out of the room. 
 
 She stood before her fire, candle in hand, and 
 bitterly compressed her lips. She hopes " I '11 find 
 my Christmas present to-night. Who will send it 
 to me, and what will it be ? Whom do I care 
 for, and who cares for me ? No one. Not one 
 human being." 
 
 She crossed the room, and, placing her candle 
 upon the dressing-table, gazed at herself in the 
 glass. " I am growing old, old and hard, and per- 
 fectly friendless." 
 
 But why that start and cry ? There before her 
 eyes, in the big, flourishing, boyish handwriting 
 so well remembered, she reads : cc Our love can 
 never die. We have nothing in the world except 
 each other, dear sister, and no matter what may 
 come, our love can never change." 
 
 [9] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 She snatched up the paper and threw herself 
 into a chair. 
 
 " Where did it come from" ? she cried. " What 
 evil genius placed it here this night? Haven't 
 I, years ago, torn and destroyed every word that 
 wretched boy ever wrote me?" 
 
 She tossed her arms over her head, and rocked 
 back and forth, and groaned aloud. She could 
 not help her thoughts now, or keep them from 
 going back over the past. Her heart softened as 
 she remembered, and the scalding tears fell. 
 
 She was only a child, not much older than the 
 one up-stairs, when her dying mother had placed 
 her baby-brother in her arms, saying: 
 
 "He is all I have to leave you, Amanda. I 
 know you love him. Don't ever be harsh or un- 
 forgiving to him." 
 
 How had she kept her trust ? She had loved 
 him. She had worked early and worked late 
 for him. She had given up everything; but she 
 had been ill-repaid. 
 
 " 111," do I say ? Verily, is this not true of 
 Love : that it brings its own blessedness ? 
 
 The fire burned low, and the room settled cold 
 and still. She seemed to feel a pair of boyish 
 arms about her neck and a boy's rough kiss upon 
 her cheek. 
 
 When she was but a young woman she had 
 moved to the big city, and started her dressmak- 
 er's shop, so that he could have a better chance at 
 school. What a loving boy he was ! So full of fun! 
 
 The wind whistled outside. She thought it was 
 he, and she heard him again : " You're my hand- 
 some sister. Not one of the fellows have as 
 handsome a sister as I." 
 
 fioj 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 How proud she had felt when she had started 
 him off to college. "It only means a few years 
 of a little harder work, and then I'll see my boy 
 able to take his stand with anybody/' 
 
 But now she wept and groaned afresh. cc Oh, 
 how could he treat me so, how could he ! The 
 wretched disgrace ! " 
 
 He had been expelled. The president's letter 
 was severe; but the young man's letter regretted 
 it as only a boyish prank. He was sorry. He 
 had never expected anything so serious would 
 come of it. He deserved the disgrace. It only 
 hurt him through his love for her. But only 
 forgive him, and he would show her what he 
 could yet do. 
 
 What had he done ? 
 
 He had tied a calf to the president's door-bell. 
 
 She remembered her answer to this letter, asking 
 for her forgiveness. It stood before her, written 
 in characters of flame. 
 
 Had she in this been harsh to the boy, the 
 only legacy her dying mother had to leave her ? 
 
 "Never speak to me, nor see my face again. 
 You have disgraced yourself and me." 
 
 It was not so long a letter but that she could 
 easily remember it. 
 
 Afterward, the president himself had written 
 again to her. He thought he had been too hasty. 
 It was truly only a boy's prank. It was, of course, 
 ungentlemanly, but the trick was played on All- 
 Fool's Night, and that should have had greater 
 weight than it did. The faculty were willing, after 
 proper apologies were made, to excuse it, and take 
 her brother back. 
 
 Where was her brother? He could not be 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 found, and not one word had she heard of him 
 since she sent that dreadful letter. He might be 
 dead. Oh, how often she thought that! Now 
 she wrung her hands and covered her wet cheeks 
 with them. Her hair fell about her shoulders, as 
 she shook in her agony of remorse. 
 
 What noise is this? the door-bell pealing 
 through the silent house. Again and again it 
 rings. 
 
 She did not hear this bell. She was listening 
 to another, and how it rang ! Louder and louder, 
 how it rang, and well it might, with a calf jump- 
 ing about, trying to get away from it. Even in 
 all her misery so near together are the ecstasies 
 of emotion she laughed aloud and then shud- 
 dered at the thought that she should never again 
 hear any noise quite so loud as this of the past. 
 
 Then she felt in the silent, chill room a tattered 
 presence, a little half-frozen hand upon her own. 
 She turned her streaming eyes, and they were 
 met by the big, wide eyes of Elsie. 
 
 "Miss Amanda, didn't you hear the door-bell 
 ringing ? There is something no, there is some- 
 body waiting down-stairs for you." 
 
 Half dazed, half afraid, ashamed of her tears, 
 Miss Amanda left the room, led by the child 
 as by an unearthly presence into an unearthly 
 presence. 
 
 Who was this bearded man that folded her in 
 his strong, true arms ? 
 
 cc 
 
 I have so much to tell you, dear child. I am 
 such a happy little girl. Miss Amanda's dear 
 brother has come home. She is so happy, and 
 
 [*] 
 
THE POTATO CHILD 
 
 she loves him so much. And, oh darling, they 
 both love me ! And it was all you ! You did it 
 all! Oh, there is no knowing how much good 
 one sweet, loving, contented potato-child can do 
 in a house." 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 TOMMY was very angry. He rushed 
 up-stairs and into his mother's room, 
 utterly forgetting his knock or " Am 
 I welcome, mother?" 
 
 " Bang ! " echoed the door behind 
 him with a noise that resounded over the whole 
 house. Why he was angry was plain enough. 
 His eye was black, nose bleeding, coat torn, 
 collar hanging. His mother took it off as he 
 bent over the wash-bowl. 
 
 " Oh, Tommy/' she said, " you've been fight- 
 ing again." 
 
 "Well, mother," he exclaimed, "what do you 
 expect me to do ? That Bob Sykes threw rocks at 
 me again and called me names. He said I was " 
 
 "Hush," said his mother, "you only grow 
 more angry as you speak. Is it hard for you now 
 to remember the rule, 'The good things about 
 others, the naughty things about yourself ? " 
 
 " Good ! There is nothing good about him. 
 I hate him. I wish he was dead, I do. I wish I 
 could kill him." 
 
 Sternly his mother took him by the arm and 
 led him before the mirror. One look at the face 
 he saw there silenced him. 
 
 " To all intents and purposes you have killed 
 him. c Whosoever hateth his brother is a mur- 
 derer. ' You cannot but remember who said it, 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 Tommy. It is late in the afternoon. The sun is 
 going down. To-morrow is His birthday. Hadn't 
 you better forgive Bob ? " 
 
 " The sun may go down and the sun may come 
 up for all I care," he answered, " I'll never for- 
 give him." 
 
 Without further word his mother bathed his 
 heated face and led him to her bed. " Lie down 
 and rest," she said, "you are over excited. Quiet 
 will help you." 
 
 He lay and looked at her as she sat quietly 
 and gravely at her work under the Picture. Ever 
 since he could remember, her chair at this hour 
 of the day had been in that corner, and low over 
 it had always hung, just as it hung now, that 
 Picture so often explained to him, "The Walk 
 to Emmaus." How calm and quiet his mother 
 was ; and the room, how still and cool after that 
 crowded street ! Shutting his aching eyes he could 
 see it again now; the swearing mob of boys and 
 men shoving him on, their brutal faces and ges- 
 tures, the quarrel, the blows those he had given 
 and taken he felt them again, and the burning 
 choke of the final grip and wrestle. 
 
 Oh, how his head throbbed and ached ! It 
 seemed as if the blood would burst through. 
 
 He opened his eyes again. The room was 
 growing darker. He almost forgot his pain for a 
 few moments, noticing how the sunlight was 
 straightened to a narrow lane which reached from 
 the extreme southern end of the window to the 
 floor in front of his mother's chair. He watched 
 the last rays as they slowly left the floor and stole 
 up her dress to her lap and her breast, leaving 
 all behind and below in shadow. Now they had 
 
 [16] 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 reached her face. It was bent over her work. 
 Well he knew that was some Christmas gift, may 
 be for him, some Christmas gift, and to-morrow 
 was Christmas! He looked again to see if he 
 could discover what she was making, but the light 
 had left her now, and had risen to the Picture. 
 
 Queer picture that it was ! What funny clothes 
 those men wore ! Those long gabardines, mother 
 had called them, reaching almost to the ground; 
 shoes that showed the toes, and hoods for hats. 
 One of them had none. How closely they looked 
 at him! They didn't even see which way they 
 were going, and what a long way it was, stretch- 
 ing out there, dusty and hot. 
 
 The room was quite dark now save for the light 
 on the narrow road there. What was yonder little 
 village in the distance? What kind of a place 
 was Emmaus? His mother had told him about 
 it; only one street, a long and narrow one; and 
 very few trees; and one or two trading shops 
 only; and the houses low and flat-roofed, with no 
 glass in them ; and the sun shining down hot and 
 straight between them, and (oh, how his head 
 ached ! ) he was out there looking for Bob Sykes. 
 Maybe that was he lying on this rude bench with 
 the low cedar-bush over it. If it were, he would 
 settle matters with him quick. He would show 
 him but it wasn't Bob, it was only a sheep-dog 
 asleep. So Tommy turned away and walked slowly 
 along the middle of the street. His face burned 
 with the heat of the sun on his bruises. He was 
 very thirsty. Climbing a little hill over which the 
 road lay, he saw on the other side of it another boy 
 coming toward him. He was rather a peculiar 
 looking boy, with a face thoughtful but pleasant. 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 He was carrying a heavy sheepskin bag over his 
 shoulder. Tommy determined to ask him if he 
 knew where there was some water. 
 
 " Hello," he said, as the boy drew near. 
 
 The boy stopped and smiled at Tommy with- 
 out making reply. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Tommy. 
 
 "I am carry ing this bag of tools to my father," 
 the boy answered. 
 
 "Do you live here?" asked Tommy. "It 
 doesn't seem like much of a place." 
 
 "No," said the boy, "it isn't much of a place, 
 but I live here." 
 
 " What sort of tools have you got in your bag ? 
 Who is your father ? " 
 
 " My father is a carpenter," answered the boy. 
 
 Tommy gave a long, low whistle. "A carpen- 
 ter! Why my father owns a store, and we live 
 in one of the best houses in town. Fairfield is 
 the name of my town." 
 
 The boy seemed neither to notice the whistle 
 nor the brag; but, allowing the bag to slip from 
 his shoulders to the ground, stood, still smiling, 
 before Tommy. 
 
 Tommy, who somehow had forgotten his pain 
 and thirst, felt embarrassed for a moment. He 
 never before had made that announcement with- 
 out its awakening at least a little sensation, even 
 if it were no more than a boast in return. 
 
 "This is a dull old town," he finally said. 
 " Many jolly boys around ? " 
 
 " A good many," answered the boy. 
 
 "Do you get any time to play? I suppose 
 though, you don't you have to work most of 
 the time," added Tommy, encouragingly. 
 
 [18] 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 "I work a good deal," said the boy. "I get 
 time to play, however. I like it." 
 
 "Which, the work or the play?" 
 
 " Both." 
 
 " Well," said Tommy after a pause, " do you 
 ever have any trouble with the boys you play 
 with?" 
 
 "No," said the boy, "I don't think I do." 
 
 "Well, you must be a queer sort of a boy! 
 Now, there's Bob Sykes, perhaps you've no- 
 ticed that my eye is hurt, and my face scratched 
 some. Well, we had a little difficulty just a few 
 moments ago ; he insulted me, and I won't take 
 an insult from any one. And I told him to shut 
 up his mouth, and he sassed me back, and called 
 me names, and said I was stuck up and thought 
 I was better than the other boys, and he'd show 
 me that I wasn't. Of course, I wouldn't stand 
 that, so I've had a fight, and it isn't the first 
 one either." 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, " I know that. I feel very 
 sorry for Bob. He hasn't any mother to go to, 
 you know. He had to wash the blood and dirt 
 off his face as best he could at the town pump ; 
 and then wait around the streets until his father 
 came from work. It is pretty hard for a boy to 
 have no place to lay his head." 
 
 "Why, do you know Bob Sykes?" asked 
 Tommy. 
 
 "Yes," answered the boy, "I've been with 
 him a good deal." 
 
 " Queer now," mused Tommy. " I don't re- 
 member of ever seeing you around. But now tell 
 me what you would have done if he had provoked 
 you, and insulted you, too ? " 
 
 ['9] 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 " I would have forgiven him/' answered the boy. 
 
 "Well, I did. There was one spell I just 
 started in and forgave him every day for a week, 
 that was seven times." 
 
 " I would have forgiven him seventy times 
 
 seven." 
 
 "That is just what my mother always says. 
 Perhaps you know my mother?" 
 
 " She knows me, too," replied the boy. 
 
 " That is odd. I didn't think she knew any of 
 the boys Bob knows." 
 
 <c Bob does not know me," replied the boy ; " I 
 know him." 
 
 Just then Tommy's attention was attracted by a 
 flock of little brown birds passing over their 
 heads. One of the birds flew low and fluttered 
 as if wounded, and fell in the dust near, where it 
 lay beating its little wings, panting and dying. 
 The boy tenderly picked it up. 
 
 " Somebody's hit him with a sling-shot," said 
 Tommy, carelessly. 
 
 The boy smoothed the bruised wing, and 
 straightened the crushed and broken body. The 
 bird ceased fluttering. 
 
 " I'm most sorry," said Tommy, " I didn't for- 
 give Bob. It makes me feel bad, what you told 
 me about his having no home. Now, mother is 
 something like you. She don't mind one's being 
 poor. Why, if I took Bob home with me, mother 
 wouldn't seem to see his clothes and ragged shoes. 
 She'd just talk to him and treat him like he 
 was the best dressed boy in town. There's Bill 
 Logan came home to dinner with me once. Mother 
 made me ask him. He is a real poor boy ; has 
 to work. His mother washes. He didn't know 
 
 [20] 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 what to do nor how to acl. He kept his hands 
 in his pockets most all the time. Aunt Lilly said 
 it was shocking. But mother said, ' Never mind/ 
 She said she was glad he had his pockets; for his 
 hands were rough and not too clean, and she 
 thought they mortified him. Father went and 
 kissed her then. Don't tell this. I don't know 
 what makes me run on and tell you all these 
 things. I never spoke of them before. But I 
 know father was a poor, young working man when 
 he married mother." 
 
 The boy raised his hand, and the sparrow gave 
 a twitter of delight and flew heavenward. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Tommy in amazement, 
 "you've cured him! He is all right. How did 
 you do it? Do you feel sorry for the sparrows as 
 well as Bob?" ' 
 
 " I pity every sparrow that is hurt/* said the 
 boy, " and isn't Bob of more consequence than 
 a sparrow ? " 
 
 " I wish," said Tommy, " I hadn't fought with 
 Bob. It was most all my fault. I've a good mind 
 to tell him so. I wish I was better acquainted 
 with you. If I played with such a boy as you are, 
 now, I'd be better I am certain. Suppose you 
 come after school nights and play in our yard. 
 Never mind your clothes. Can't you come?" 
 
 <c Yes, I will come if you want me to," answered 
 the boy, looking steadfastly at him a moment; 
 "but now I must be about my father's business." 
 
 He stooped, lifted the bag of tools to his 
 shoulders, and before Tommy could stay him had 
 moved some steps away. 
 
 "Don't go yet, tell me some more about what 
 youd do," and Tommy turned to follow him. 
 
A STORY THAT NEVER ENDS 
 
 But was it the boy? And was that a bag of 
 tools on his back? It had grown strangely longer 
 and heavier now, so that it dragged on the ground, 
 and the face was the face of the Picture, and lo, 
 it turned toward him, and the hand was raised in 
 benediction and farewell, " I am with you always," 
 and he was gone. 
 
 " Oh ! come back, come back," sobbed Tommy, 
 reaching out his arms and struggling to run after 
 him. 
 
 " Poor boy," said his mother, wiping the blind- 
 ing tears from his eyes, "your sleep didn't do 
 you much good." 
 
 " I've not been asleep," said Tommy ; " I've 
 been talking with with Him," and he spoke 
 low with a longing reverence and pointed to the 
 Picture. 
 
 "It was a dream, my child." 
 
 " Mother, it was a vision. I saw Him, when 
 He was a little boy in His own town, Nazareth. 
 And, mother, I even told Him it wasn't much 
 of a place to live in. He talked to me about 
 Bob. He said you knew Him. I saw him cure 
 a little bird. And oh, mother, He said He would 
 be with me always. He is a little boy like me! 
 I know what to do now. He showed me. I must 
 find Bob ; I must have him forgive me. I want 
 to bring him home with me into my bed for 
 to-night." 
 
 He stopped. " Mother," he said solemnly, 
 "to-morrow is His birthday." 
 
 [22] 
 
A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS 
 
 N 
 
 OW, tell us, mother, again as ever 
 this night the story of our brother's 
 birth." 
 
 "Yes, dear mother, and not for- 
 getting the star; for us no story is 
 like this, not even the story of young King 
 David, although in truth, that is a goodly tale." 
 "Then sit, children; lend me your aid with 
 the gifts ; and now, as dark comes on, while yet 
 your father and brother are not returned from 
 their work, I will repeat again the oft-told story. 
 I see not how I can forget aught, for it seems 
 ever before me. 
 
 "You must know it was between the wet time 
 and the dry when your father and I went up to 
 Judea to be enrolled. Bethlehem was our city. 
 There were a great many journeying in our com- 
 pany to the House of Bread. I was not strong 
 in those days ; and so your father obtained an ass 
 for me to ride, while he Walked by my side. We 
 traveled slowly, and the early night had already 
 set in when we passed where Rachel rests, and 
 reached the village. In front of the inn at which 
 your father intended stopping, he left my side a 
 moment, while he went to arrange for our stay ; 
 but he straightway returned, saying there was no 
 room for us. So we were compelled to go farther ; 
 and it was late, how late I know not, before 
 
A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS 
 
 we found rest ; for at every inn where your father 
 knocked the answer was the same : c No room ! ' 
 c No room ! ' Your father bore up bravely, though 
 he had the harder part; while, in my childish- 
 ness, I was fain to kneel in the chalk-dust of the 
 road, and seek what rest I could. But he upheld 
 me, until, at last, one inn-keeper, seeing what a 
 child I was in truth took pity on me and said : 
 
 CCC I am able to do no more for you than for 
 my poor cattle ; but I can give you shelter with 
 them in the cavern stable and a bed if only straw/ 
 
 "And, children, I was very thankful for this. 
 I had been told before that to me a Prince should 
 be born ; that, girl as I was, as mother , should 
 clasp in my arms a Savior-child. I believed the 
 words of the angel, for was I not of the house 
 of David ? and ever treasured them in my heart. 
 Now, how strange should it be that not in my 
 peaceful Nazareth, not in this, our own home, but 
 there, and that weary night of all nights, beside 
 me on the straw should be laid my infant son ! 
 
 " I knew immediately what to call him, for, as 
 I have often told you, the angel had named him 
 c Jesus.' 'Even so/ the angel had said; c for he 
 shall save his people from their sins/ I have 
 wondered much what that means for your brother. 
 
 " Watch well your work, children ! Burn not 
 the cakes. Fold with care the mantles and the 
 coats. This garment we will lay aside for patches. 
 It repays not labor to put new to old ; and, James, 
 test well the skins before you fill them with the 
 wine. We know not to whom your brother bears 
 the gifts of his handiwork to-night, but he knows 
 who needs them most, and naught must be lost 
 or wasted. 
 
A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS 
 
 " Where was I in the story, children ? " 
 
 "The baby on the hay, sweet mother." 
 
 " Ah, yes, I mind me now. I took him in my 
 arms. To me no child had ever looked the same. 
 But now, a marvel ! The rock stable, which before 
 had seemed dark indeed, lighted only by our dim 
 lamps, suddenly shone full of light. I raised my 
 eyes, and there, before and above me, seemingly 
 through a rent in the roof, I beheld a most large 
 and luminous star. Verily, I had not seen the 
 opening in the roof when I had lain me down, 
 but now I could do naught else but look from 
 my baby's face beside me, along the floods of 
 light to the star before. 
 
 " And now, without, rose a cry : c We are come 
 to behold the King. We are guided.' And, enter- 
 ing the stable, clad in their coats of sheepskin, 
 with their slings and crooks yet in their hands, 
 came shepherds, I cannot now recall the number. 
 
 " I had wrapped my babe in his clothes, and 
 had lain him in his manger. And now it was so 
 that as soon as their eyes fell upon his face, they 
 sank to their knees and worshiped him. 
 
 " c Heard you not,' spake a white-bearded shep- 
 herd to me ; c heard you not, young Mother Mary, 
 the angels' song?' 
 
 cc< Meseems I have long heard it, and can hear 
 naught else, good father,' I answered. 
 
 " c To us it came,' he said, c in the first watch 
 of this night, and with it music not ef earth.' 
 
 " Afterward came the learned ones from the 
 Eastern countries, I know not now the land. 
 The gifts they brought him made all the place 
 seem like a king's palace ; and with all their gifts 
 they gave him worship also. 
 
A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS 
 
 "And I lay watching it all. And it shall be 
 always so, I thought. 
 
 " But these, though wise men, were not of our 
 race, and could not follow the guiding star with 
 our faith. Wherefore, so much stir had they made 
 throughout the kingdom, inquiring publicly con- 
 cerning this, your brother, that, through the jeal- 
 ousy of Herod, great was the trouble and misery 
 that fell upon the innocent after their going. 
 
 " But hearken, children ; I hear even now your 
 father and your brother coming from their work. 
 Place quickly the gifts within the basket." 
 
 It is a gentle figure that bends among mother 
 and children, and a tender voice that questions : 
 
 "Shall I bear forth the gifts?" 
 
 "They are ready now, my son. Even this mo- 
 ment thy brother James placed the last within 
 the basket, but canst thou not partake of the 
 evening meal before thou goest with them ? Thou 
 art but a lad, to go forth alone after a day of toil." 
 
 " Nay, but I must be about the Master's work; 
 and, look, the stars are rising. I should tarry not, 
 for they who toil long rest early." 
 
 " For whom is thy service to-night, my son ? 
 Last birth-night it was to the sorrowing ; before 
 that to the blind, and even yet to the deaf and 
 the lame. And whither tend thy footsteps now ? " 
 
 "To the tempted ones, mother." 
 
 " And thou shalt stay their feet, dear boy, for 
 rememberest not the Immanuels of last year? 
 How the sorrowful found strange, staying joy in 
 their hearts? How the blind said, as thou named 
 their gifts, and placed them in their hands, that it 
 seemed they could straightway behold them? 
 How even the dumb gave forth pleasant sounds 
 
 [26] 
 
A NAZARETH CHRISTMAS 
 
 like music from their helpless tongues ? and how 
 even the lame well-nigh leaped from their lame- 
 ness, for the light of thy young face ? But when 
 thou comest to thy crown and throne thou need- 
 est not got forth alone upon thy birth-night, but 
 send out thy gifts with love and plenty." 
 
 " I know not, my mother." 
 
 " But all will be thine ? What said the angel : 
 'The Lord God shall give unto him the throne 
 of his father David; and of his kingdom there 
 shall be no end ! ' It may be soon, we know not, 
 for lo ! King David was but a boy, and at his 
 daily toil, when he was called to reign over the 
 house of Jacob. Forget not, thou art born the 
 King." 
 
 "Oh, gladden not thy heart, loved mother, 
 with this joy. I seek not to behold the future, 
 but I see not in this world my kingdom, for the 
 rose blossoms I pluck from out the hedge-rows 
 fall ; and it is their thorn branch that ever within 
 my hands twines into a crown." 
 
HERE ENDS THE POTATO CHILD AND 
 OTHERS BY MRS. CHARLES J. WOODBURY 
 THE FRONTISPIECE AFTER A BAS-RELIEF 
 BY ELIZABETH FERREA. PUBLISHED BY 
 PAUL ELDER fef COMPANY AND DONE IN- 
 TO A BOOK FOR THEM AT THEIR TOMOYE 
 PRESS, UNDER. THE DIRECTION OF JOHN 
 HENRY NASH, IN THE CITY OF SAN FRAN- 
 CISCO, NINETEEN HUNDRED & ELEVEN