for a time, and under the tattered
blankets that covered them saw, perhaps, visions of enchanting lands,
and in their dreams feasted at those wonderful tables which hungry
children see only in sleep, to the poor woman sitting at the failing
fire there came no surcease of sorrow, and no vision threw even an
evanescent brightness over the hard, cold facts of her surroundings.
And the reality of her condition was dire enough, God knows. Alone in
the wilderness, miles from any human habitation, the trails covered
deep with snow, her provisions exhausted, actual suffering already
upon them, and starvation staring them squarely in the face,--no
wonder that her soul sank within her; no wonder that her thoughts
turned toward bitterness.

"Yes, it's Christmas Eve," she muttered, "and the rich will keep it
gayly. God sends them presents enough; but you see if He remembers me!
Oh, they may talk about the angels of Christmas Eve flying abroad
to-night, loaded with gifts, but they'll fly mighty high above this
shanty, I reckon; no, they won't even drop a piece of meat as they
soar past." And so she sat muttering and moaning over her woes, and
they were heavy enough,--too heavy for her poor soul, unassisted, to
lift,--while the flame on the hearth grew thinner and thinner, until
it had no more warmth in it than the shadow of a ghost, and, like its
resemblance, was about to flit and fade away. At last she said, in a
softened tone, as if the remembrance of the Christmas legend had
softened her surly thoughts and sweetened the bitter mood:--

"Perhaps I'm wrong to take on so. Perhaps it isn't God's fault that I
and my children are deserted and starving. But why should the innocent
be punished for the guilty, and why should the wicked have enough and
to spare, while those who do no evil go half naked and starved?"

Alas, poor woman! that puzzle has puzzled many besides thee, and many
lips besides thine have asked that question, querulously or
entreatingly, many a time; but whether they asked it in vexation and
rebellion of spirit, or humbly besought Heaven to answer, to neither
murmur nor prayer did Heaven vouchsafe a response. Is it because we
are so small, or, being small, are so inquisitive, that the Great
Oracle of the blue remains so dumb when we cry?

At this point the poor little flame, as if unable to abide the cold
much longer, flared fitfully, and uneasily shifted itself from brand
to brand, threatening with many a flicker