Part 13

My Mother says that may be so; (They both agree they're gnomes, you know). She says, she thinks that every night, The gnomes have had a fearful fight; Their valiant General has been slain, And all the soldiers leave the camp To dig his grave upon the plain; They drag the General on a gun; Every bandsman has a lamp And there's a torch for every one, They dig his grave with bayonets And wrap him grandly in his flag, Then they gather in a ring, The band plays very soft and low, And all the soldiers sing. (Of course we cannot hear, you know,) Then some one calls "The enemy comes!" They muffle up their pipes and drums; Every soldier in a fright Puts out his light. Then hand in hand, and very still, They clamber up the dark, dark hill And hold their breath tight--tight.

(I'd like to know which tale is right.)

O! there is something I forgot! Sometimes one little spark burns on Long after the rest have gone.

My Father says that lamp is left By a little crooked, crotchety man, Who cannot find his wayward son; When the horn begins to blow, He has to drop his light and run. Of course he limps so slow He squeezes through the very last, When he is gone the naughty scamp Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.

My Mother says that is the light, Borne by the very bravest knight; He is so very, very brave, He would not leave his General's grave, And when the Enemy General tries To make him tell where his General lies, He answers boldly, "I--will--not!" Then they shoot him on the spot, And give a horrid, dreadful shout, And then of course his light goes out.

I sit and think when they are through, Which tale I like best of the two. Sometimes I like the Father one; It is such fun! But then I love the Mother one, That dear brave soldier and the rest:-- Now which one do you like the best?

A LEGEND OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY

At Bethlehem upon the hill, The day was done, the night was nigh, The dusk was deep and had its will, The stars were very small and still, Like unblown tapers, faint and high.

The noises had begun to fall, And quiet stole upon the place, The howl of dogs along the wall, Voices that from the houstops call And answer, and the grace

Of some low breath of even-song Grew faint apace: between the rocks In misty pastures, and along The dim hillside with crook and thong The lonely shepherds watched their flocks.

The Inn-master within the Inn Called loudly out after this sort, "Draw no more water, cease the din, Pile the loose fodder, and begin To turn the mules out of the court.

The time has come to shut the gate, Make way," he cried, and then began To sweep and set the litter straight, And pile the saddle-bags and freight Of some belated caravan.

The drivers whirled their beasts about, And beat them on with shoutings great; The nosebags slipped, the feed flew out, The water-buckets reeled, the rout Went jostling onward to the gate.

Came one unto the master then, Hasting to find him through the gloom, "Give us a place to rest;" and when He spake, the master cried again, "There is no room--there is no room."

"But I have come from Nazareth, Full three days' toil to Bethlehem"-- "What matters that," the master saith, "For here is hardly room for breath; The guests curse me for crowding them."

"Hold, Sir! leave me not so, I pray"-- He plucked him sudden by the sleeve, "My wife is with me and doth say, Her hour hath come, I beg you, stay, And make some plan for her relief."

"Two hours ago you might have had The chamber wherein stands the loom; But then to drive me wholly mad, Came this great merchant from Baghdad, And thrust himself into the room.

"There is no other shelf to call A bed--But just beyond the gate, You may find shelter in a stall, If there be shelter left at all, You may be even now too late."

Beyond the gate within the night, A figure rested on the ground, About her all the rout took flight, The dizzy noise, the flashing light, The mules were tramping all around.

Leaning in mute expectancy, Beneath a stunted sycamore, She added darkness utterly, To the dim light, the shrouded tree, By her hands held her face before.

And yet to mock her eye's desire, The cavern into which she stared, Was lit with disks and lines of fire; When triple darkness did conspire, The secret founts of light were bared.

And all the wheeling fire was rife With haunting fears, her broken breath Grew short with this prophetic strife; What was for one the dawn of life, Would be for one the dawn of death.

Meantime the stranger with a lamp, Which lit the darkness, small and wan, Searched where the mules did tramp and stamp, Amid the litter and the damp, For some small place to rest upon.

And there against the furthest wall, Where the black shade was dense and deep, He found a mean and meager stall, But there when the weak light did fall, He found a little lad asleep.

He lifted up his childish head, And smiled serenely at the light, "And have you found him, then," he said, "My brother who I thought was dead, I lost him in the crowd last night.

"His name is Ezra, and he is So tall and strong that when I try, Standing on tiptoe for a kiss I could not reach, except for this, He lifts me up so easily.

"I had two little doves to take Up to the booths"--he held his breath, "Peace, child! and for your mother's sake, Yield me this place--nay, nay! awake! My weary wife is sick to death."

"I will," the little lad replied "I promised never to forget My mother, years ago she died, I will lie out on the hillside, And I may find dear Ezra yet."