e are you going, little ones?"

"We are going to meet the Kings!" And on we would run proudly along
the white road, while the shrewd north wind blew sharp behind us,
until our old church tower would drop away and be hidden behind the
trees. We could see far, far down the wide straight road, but it
would be bare! In the cold of the winter evening all would be dumb.
Then we would meet a shepherd, wrapped in his long brown cloak and
leaning on his staff, a silhouette against the western sky.

"Where are you going, little ones?"

"We are going to meet the Kings! Can you tell us if they are far
off?"

"Ah, the Kings. Certainly. They are over there behind the cypresses.
They are coming. You will see them soon."

On we would run to meet the Kings so near, with our fougasso and our
figs and our hay for the hungry camels. The day would be waning
rapidly, the sun dropping down into a great cloud-bank above the
mountains, the wind nipping us more shrewdly as it grew still more
chill. Our hearts also would be chilling. Even the bravest of us
would be doubting a little this adventure upon which we were bound.

[Illustration: THE PASSING OF THE KINGS]

Then, of a sudden, a flood of radiant glory would be about us, and
from the dark cloud above the mountains would burst forth a
splendour of glowing crimson and of royal purple and of glittering
gold!

"Les Rois Mages! Les Rois Mages!" we would cry. "They are coming!
They are here at last!"

But it would be only the last rich dazzle of the sunset. Presently
it would vanish. The owls would be hooting. The chill night would be
settling down upon us, out there in the bleak country, sorrowful,
alone. Fear would take hold of us. To keep up our courage a little,
we would nibble at the figs which we had hoped to give to the pages,
at the fougasso which we had hoped to present to the Kings. As for
the hay for the hungry camels, we would throw it away. Shivering in
the wintry dusk, we would return sadly to our homes.

And when we reached our homes again our mothers would ask: "Well,
did you see them, the Kings?"

"No; they passed by on the other side of the Rhone, behind the
mountains."

"But what road did you take?"

"The road to Arles."

"Ah, my poor child! The Kings don't come that way. They come from
the East. Yo