and the Child's kiss on his forehead made him so
happy, but withal so drowsy, that he smiled as he closed his eyes once
more repeating, "'Until help comes.' 'There is a better way' for me."

II

On the side of the mountain, away from the village street, perched the
little hut of Grandfather Viaud. And here, on Christmas Eve, sat the old
man and his wife, looking very sad and lonely. For there was no sound of
childish laughter in the little hut, no patter of small feet, no
whispering of Christmas secrets. The little Viauds had long since grown
up and flown away to build nests of their own in far-off countries. Poor
Josef Viaud and old Bettine were quite alone this Christmas Eve, save
for the Saint Bernard dog who was stretched out before the fire,
covering half the floor with his huge bulk, like a furry rug. He was the
very Prince of dogs, as his name betokened, and he was very good to
Grandfather and Grandmother, who loved him dearly. But on Christmas Eve
even the littlest cottage, crowded with the biggest tenants, seems
lonely unless there are children in the corners.

The Viauds sat silently gazing into the fire, with scarcely a word for
each other, scarcely a caress for faithful Prince. Indeed, the great dog
himself seemed to know that something was lacking, and every once in a
while would lift his head and whine wistfully.

In each of the two small windows burned a row of candles, flickering in
the draught that blew down the great chimney and swept through the
little chamber. And these, with the crackling blaze upon the hearth,
sent queer shadows quivering up the smoky walls.

Grandfather Viaud looked over his shoulder as a great gust blew the
ashes into the room. "Hey!" he cried. "I almost fancied the shadow of
one looking in at the window. Ha, ha! What foolishness! Eh! but it is a
fearsome storm. Pray the good Lord that there may be no poor creatures
wandering on the mountain this night."

"The Lord's birthday, too!" said Grandmother Bettine. "The dear little
Child has a cold way to come. Even He might become confused and be
driven to wander by such a whirl of snow. I am glad that we set the
tapers there, Josef, even though we be so far from the village street
down which they say He passes. How pleasant to think that one might give
light to His blessed feet if they were wandering from the way,--the dear
little Child's feet, so rosy and soft and tender!" And good Grandmother
Viaud dropped a tear upon her kn