o Tommy set the chair for the old
man? Where is Master Tommy? Ah, there's my little man! Come here,
Tommy. That's right. So, up, on my knee. Why, that's a bright face now!
And it ought to be bright, too; for this is Christmas Eve, merry
Christmas Eve, the children's happy time. Tommy, I remember when I was
as young as you are. I had a little sister.

_Tommy_. I have a little sister, too.

_Minstrel_. Oh, you have a little sister, eh! Where is she, then?

_Tommy [pointing]._ Over there, in the corner.

_Minstrel_. Bless my old eyes, so she is! Run and bring her, Tommy.

[TOMMY _runs, and returns leading and coaxing_ MAY.]

_Minstrel_ [_setting one on each knee_]. Now, good folks, if you'll let
me, I'll tell these little people a story of Jesus when he was a little
boy. It is called "The Holy Well."

[_They group themselves about the minstrel_.]

Early one bright May morning, Jesus, then a little boy of ten or twelve
years, awoke, and at once remembered that it was a holiday. His eyes,
bright with the morning light, sparkled yet more brightly at the
thought. There would be no school, no work. All the people would keep
the feast. He knew, too, that on that day, the boys of his age would
assemble betimes to play together at The Holy Well. So, brimful of
joyful expectation, he ran to ask his mother's leave to go and join in
the merry games. Soon he was on his way, and he quickened his steps
when he came in sight of the troops of happy children running hither
and thither in their sports. Drawing nearer, he stood still a little
while, watching the games with pleased and eager eyes. Then he called
out: "Little children, shall I play with you, and will you play with
me?" Now, these boys and girls were the children of rich parents, and
lived in much finer houses than the one Jesus had for a home. They had
handsome clothes, too, and everything of the best. So they looked on
the plainly dressed stranger, the son of a poor carpenter, and bade him
begone, saying: "We will not play with you, or with any such as you!"
What a rebuff was that! The poor, sensitive little lad had not expected
it, and his tender feelings were hurt. His eyes filled with tears; and
running home as fast as he could, he laid his head in his mother's lap,
and sobbed out to her the whole story. Then Mary was angry with the
ill-natured children, and told her son to go back and destroy them all
by his word; for she believed that her beautiful boy could do s