storm. She knew, she knew!"

The Child bent near and kissed Pierre on the cheeks, so that they grew
rosy, and the warm blood went tingling through his little cold limbs.
Sitting up, he said: "Yes, I am that boy who last year was so happy
because he could do these pleasant things. But how do you know, little
Stranger? How did you see?"

"Oh, I know, I saw!" cried the Child, gleefully clapping his hands as a
child will. "I was there. I passed through the village last Christmas
Eve, and I saw it all. But tell me now, how do you come here, dear boy?
Why are you not in that happy home this stormy night, once more making
the Lord's creatures happy?"

Pierre told all to the Child: how his dear father and mother had died
and left him alone in the world; how the home had been sold, and now he
lived in the charity school kept by the good Abbe; how he had learned of
the chance to earn a few pennies by singing on Christmas Day in the
neighboring village church, which lacked a voice among the choir-boys;
how he was on his way thither when the storm had hidden the road, and he
had grown so cold, so cold!

"Then your dove came to me, little Stranger," Pierre concluded. "She
came, and I folded her in my jacket to keep her warm. But, do you know,
it must be that she has kept _me_ warm. Although I could walk no
further, I am not cold at all, nor frightened, and no longer hungry. Sit
close to me, little Stranger. You shall share my jacket, too, and we
will all three warm one another."

The Child laughed again, a low, soft, silvery laugh, like a happy brook
slipping over the pebbles. "I am not cold," he said. "I cannot stay with
you. I must go yonder." And he pointed through the snow.

[Illustration: UNTIL HELP COMES]

"Whither, oh, whither?" cried Pierre eagerly. "Let me go with you. I am
lost; but if you know the way we can go together, hand in hand."

The Child shook his head. "Not so," he said. "I do not follow the path,
and your feet would stumble. I shall find a way without sinking in the
snow. I must go alone. But there is a better way for you. I leave my
dove with you: she will keep you warm until help comes. Farewell, friend
of the Lord's friends." Stooping the Child kissed Pierre once more, upon
the forehead. Then, before the boy saw how he went, he had vanished from
the little nest of snow, without leaving a footprint behind.

Now the dove, clasped close to Pierre's heart, seemed to warm him like a
little fire within;