enance upon his sister, and he could not
bear to think of her having to kneel upon dried peas.

[Illustration: The Prince Runs Away.]

He worked hard picking Christmas presents, and hid his unhappiness
as best he could. On Christmas eve he was called into the chapel. The
Christmas Monks were all assembled there. The walls were covered with
green garlands and boughs and sprays of holly berries, and branches
of wax lights Were gleaming brightly amongst them. The altar and the
picture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to almost
dazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white dress,
all wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of green
branches over it, sat Peter's little sister.

And there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes and
wreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of the
very showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!

But when they reached her and held out the lovely presents--the
first was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the whole
garden--instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drew
back, and said in her little sweet, piping voice: "Please, I ain't a
millacle, I'm only Peter's little sister."

"Peter?" said the abbot; "the Peter who works in our garden?"

"Yes," said the little sister.

Now here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks to
look foolish--filing up in procession with their hands full of gifts
to offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but only
Peter's little sister.

But the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that there
were two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what you
wanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which it
would be sure to meet your views.

So now he brought this philosophy to bear.

"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and
she is not a miracle in that light," said he; "but look at her in
another light and she is a miracle--do you not see?"

They all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning and
sweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent face.

"Yes," said all the Christmas Monks, "she is a miracle." And they all
laid their beautiful Christmas presents down before her.

Peter was so delighted he hardly knew himself; and, oh! the joy there
was when he led his little sister home on Christmas-day, and showed
all the wo