ment in the
presence of almighty power.

Then he turned to the people, "Here is the timber," he cried,
"already felled and split for your new building. On this spot
shall rise a chapel to the true God and his servant St. Peter.

"And here," said he, as his eyes fell on a young fir-tree,
standing straight and green, with its top pointing towards the
stars, amid the divided ruins of the fallen oak, "here is the
living tree, with no stain of blood upon it, that shall be the
sign of your new worship. See how it points to the sky. Let us
call it the tree of the Christ-child. Take it up and carry it to
the chieftain's hall. You shall go no more into the shadows of the
forest to keep your feasts with secret rites of shame. You shall
keep them at home, with laughter and song and rites of love. The
thunder-oak has fallen, and I think the day is coming when there
shall not be a home in all Germany where the children are not
gathered around the green fir-tree to rejoice in the birth-night
of Christ."

So they took the little fir from its place, and carried it in
joyous procession to the edge of the glade, and laid it on the
sledge. The horses tossed their heads and drew their load bravely,
as if the new burden had made it lighter.

When they came to the house of Gundhar, he bade them throw open
the doors of the hall and set the tree in the midst of it. They
kindled lights among the branches until it seemed to be tangled
full of fire-flies. The children encircled it, wondering, and the
sweet odour of the balsam filled the house.

Then Winfried stood beside the chair of Gundhar, on the dais at
the end of the hall, and told the story of Bethlehem; of the babe
in the manger, of the shepherds on the hills, of the host of
angels and their midnight song. All the people listened, charmed
into stillness. But the boy Bernhard, on Irma's knee, folded by
her soft arm, grew restless as the story lengthened, and began to
prattle softly at his mother's ear.

"Mother," whispered the child, "why did you cry out so loud, when
the priest was going to send me to Valhalla?"

"Oh, hush, my child," answered the mother, and pressed him closer
to her side.

"Mother," whispered the boy again, laying his finger on the stains
upon her breast, "see, your dress is red! What are these stains?
Did some one hurt you?"

The mother closed his mouth with a kiss. "Dear, be still, and
listen!"

The boy obeyed. His eyes were heavy with sleep. But he hea