deep, and the penetrating, frosty air froze the window panes in the
heated room. It was almost midnight, and yet faint lights flickered from
the snow mounds everywhere, and in every house the inmates were on their
knees awaiting in prayer the advent of the holy Christmas festival, as
is the custom in Catholic countries, or, at least, as was general in
those times. That night a figure moved slowly down from the heights of
Brede toward the village. The wanderer seemed to be very tired or sick;
he groaned heavily and dragged himself with extreme difficulty through
the snow.

Half the way down he stopped, leaned on his staff, and gazed fixedly at
the lights. Everything was so quiet, so dead and cold; one could not
have helped thinking of will o' the wisps in cemeteries. At that moment
the clock struck twelve in the tower; as the last stroke died slowly
away, soft singing arose in the nearest house and, spreading from house
to house, ran through the whole village:

A little babe, a worthy child,
Was born to us today,
Of Mary Virgin undefiled;
We all rejoice and say:
Yea, had the Christ-child ne'er been born,
To lasting woe we'd all been sworn,
For He is our salvation.
O, thou our Jesus Christ adored,
A man in form but yet our Lord,
From Hell grant us Redemption.

The man on the mountain slope had sunk to his knees and with a trembling
voice made an effort to join in the song; it turned into nothing but
loud sobbing, and large hot drops fell on the snow. The second verse
began; he prayed along silently; then the third and the fourth. The song
was ended and the lights in the houses began to move. Then the man rose
laboriously and slunk slowly down to the village. He panted past several
houses, then stopped in front of one and knocked on the door softly.

"I wonder what that is!" said a woman's voice inside. "The door is
rattling, and there's no wind blowing!"

He knocked louder. "For God's sake, let in a half-frozen man, who comes
out of Turkish slavery!"

There was whispering in the kitchen. "Go to the inn," answered another
voice, "the fifth house from here!"

"In the name of our merciful God, let me in! I have no money."

After some delay the door opened. A man came out with a lighted lamp.
"Come right in," he then said; "you won't cut our heads off." In the
kitchen there were, besides the man, a middle-aged woman, an old mother,
and five children. All crowded around the newcomer an