and enjoyed the flowers
at their fairest. And no one, not even the surly Gardener, suspected
anything about it, which was the greatest fun of all to the merry pair.
Nor did any one ever hear aught of the tale until this day, when I tell
it to you.

But it was a morning-glory which telephoned it to me this morning, very,
very early, while lazy folk were abed.

THE LITTLE FRIEND

I

"OH! I am so cold, so cold!" sobbed little Pierre, as he stumbled
through the snow which was drifting deep upon the mountain side. "Oh, I
am so cold! The snow bites my face and blinds me, so that I cannot see
the road. Where are all the Christmas candle-lights? The people of the
village must have forgotten. The little Jesus will lose His way
to-night. I never forgot to set our window at home full of lights on
Christmas Eve. But now it is Christmas Eve, and there is no home any
more. And I am so cold, so cold!"

Little Pierre sobbed again and stumbled in the snow, which was drifting
deeper and deeper upon the mountain side. This was the stormiest
Christmas Eve which had been seen for years, and all the little boys who
had good homes were hugging themselves close to the fire, glad that
they were not out in the bleak night. Every window was full of
flickering tapers to light the expected Holy Child upon His way through
the village to the church. But little Pierre had strayed so far from the
road that he could not see these rows and rows of tiny earth-stars, any
more than he could see through the snow the far-off sky-stars which the
angels had lighted along the streets of heaven.

Pierre was on his way to the village from the orphan boys' home at the
Abbe's charity school. And that was not like a happy real home, for the
little Brothers were rough and rude and far from loving one another. He
had started at dusk from the school, hoping to be at the village church
before curfew. For Pierre had a sweet little voice, and he was to earn a
few pennies by singing in the choir on Christmas morning. But it was
growing late. The church would be closed and the Cure gone home before
Pierre could reach it; and then what should he do?

The snow whirled faster and faster, and Pierre's legs found it harder
and harder to move themselves through the great drifts. They seemed
heavy and numb, and he was growing oh, so tired! If he could but lie
down to sleep until Christmas Day! But he knew that he must not do that.
For those who choose this kind of