Many years ago in the village of Gdynis in Poland,
quite close to the Dnieper River, a mean little cottage huddled forlornly
against an outbuilding, the same thatched roof covering both. The outhouse was
intended for the farm stock and built close by so that the stock could be
easily reached if attacked by wolves in the middle of the night, but alas! for
over a year now the outbuilding had sheltered no goat nor pig. The house
sheltered a mother and two children, a boy of twelve named Ignace and his
younger sister Vilma.
They were very poor. Even when Father Stradka was with them it had been
hard to find food and clothing. Now a year had passed since Father had been
swept overboard from his little fishing vessel one stormy night and never a
trace of him was ever found. Mother had taken up the burden of providing for
her little family. She had obtained day work at the big house on the hill
belonging to the wealthy Varcona family.
Today was bitterly cold. Ignace and Vilma had worked hard dragging dead
twigs from the forest. They burned quickly in the china stove scarcely
serving to take the chill from their hands. They were saving the heavier
pieces to burn when Mother returned at sundown. Standing before the window
peering through the frost-furred pane they watched the bend in the road for a
first glimpse of their mother. Oh! how hungry they were, for this was
Christmas Eve and the last of the three fast days. They had fasted because
Mother said it was right and it brought luck, and besides there was so little
to eat. Tonight when the first star appeared in the sky the fast period
would be over.
They hoped their mother would bring from the big house some rich scraps
but the Varcona family were mean and stingy even though they were quite rich.
Often Mother Stradka was glad to bring the bones and skins of the fish along
with the rinds of the rutabagas and the outer leaves of the cabbage which she
made into quite a nice soup for her children. It had been a long time now
since they had tasted milk, for their one goat had been sold when no bread
could be bought. But there had been a few straws left in the outhouse and
these the children had strewn upon the table which they had laid for four
places: for Mother, themselves, and the young Christ Child whom they
knew would come and sup with them after their three-day fast if they put a
plate for him. The straws were symbolic of His little manger but Vilma and
Ignace did not realize that. They only knew it was customary to place straws
upon the feast table at Christmas time.
They glanced at the table from time to time and their faces expressed deep
satisfaction with its appearance. The wooden plates were scoured to a perfect
whiteness; the bowl sat empty waiting for whatever Mother could bring them
from the Varcona table. Their little mugs would hold nothing but water, or a
little weak unsweetened tea if the cook at the big house spilled a few of the
precious leaves upon the table. When she did this, Mother gathered them in a
little heap and wrapped them in the corner of her head turban. How the tea
warmed their thin little stomachs!
The children saw that it was growing dusk and they watched the skies for
the bright twinkle. There it was! Right over the water! How large and bright
it was tonight. Such a large one it must have been when the watching Shepherds
left their sheep and followed it, coming upon the stable where lay the newborn
Babe.
A small figure now appeared around the bend in the road. "She's coming!
Mother's coming!" they shouted and ran to put the largest of their twigs upon
the fire. Mother plodded wearily along the snowy road but her patient face
lit up when she saw the waiting children at the window. Poor babes! Row she
wished she had something real good to offer them. How hungry they must be
after their fast.
"My! My!" she said as she entered the low doorway. "What a lovely warm
fire and how sweet and clean the table looks. Just wait until I take off my
shawl and I will warm the food and . . . you will never guess so I'll tell
you. The cook gave me a little ground coffee, and a lump of sugar fell upon
the floor so cook said I might have it. We shall have sweetened coffee and
diced beets to break fast this holy night!" The children's faces fell a trifle
but their mother bustled about filling the kettle and scraping the thickened
beets into a pan. The mother pretended not to see their disappointment but
when they sat down she portioned the food into three plates, one for the
Christ Child, one for Vilma and one for Ignace. She poured only a very little
of the unsweetened and weak coffee into her mug.
"It's very good, Mother," they exclaimed after the first bite and indeed
most anything would seem good after fasting. "Don't you want any, Mother?"
"My, no, I'm so full of food. I ate with the cook and how I wish I could
have brought you my share."
"What did you have, Mother?" they asked with full mouths. The mother cast
about in her mind quickly then said with a great show of enthusiasm:
"Blinis, my dears. Good rich blinis."
"Blinis," they echoed and chewed the beets more slowly. How nice
it would have been to have broken fast on blinis. Mother drank the last of her
coffee and rose to look at the little fir tree the children had brought from
the forest.
"It is a very pretty one," she said, "and just the right size." Even
though there were no presents or pretties to hang on this tree, to have one in
the house at Yuletide was considered lucky.
The children, scraping the last of the beets from their plates, looked up
suddenly to see a little boy entering the door. He was a very beautiful child
about Ignace 's age. He was poorly clad and his feet were bare. Mother turned
and saw him, too. She rushed toward him with a cry of pity.
"Oh, my poor child! Look at your little blue feet. Are they entirely
frozen?" She pulled forward an empty chair. "Sit here while I rub them." The
child eyed the beets that had been piled on the Christ Child's plate. Mother
noticed the hungry look. "Eat them," she urged. "They were meant for the
little Christ Child but He would want a hungry lad to have them."
"Yes," the child at last said, "He would want me to be warmed and fed."
He ate the beets and drank the coffee while the woman sat on the floor at his
feet and rubbed them between the folds of her woolen skirt. Ignace stood at
the child 's side. He thought he had never seen such bright alert eyes. "Did
you run away from the orphanage?" Ignace asked him.
"No," returned the guest, "but I know the children there."
"Where are you from and whither are you going?" Vilma asked him.
"I came from a strange and unknown land and must return thence." His
grave eyes looked at her kindly.
"Oh, but not tonight. Mother, say that he must spend the good Christmas
Eve with us. It is far too cold for a little child to be abroad."
"I shall spend the night with many like you." He to leave.
"At least take my shoes," Ignace pressed him back into his chair.
"Have you others?"
"No, but that matters not. I can wrap my feet in cloths until warm
weather comes." His hands were busy with his shoe laces. The child allowed
Ignace to lace the shoes upon his feet. He pointed to the bare fir tree in the
corner. "Before I go shall I tell you how the fir tree became a holy tree?"
"Oh, yes. Do." They moved closer to him as he began, The child's voice
flowed out like liquid gold, not loud but distinct. The tiny fire in the china
stove suddenly sent out a burst of warmth. It smelled as if some mysterious
and fragrant wood was heaped upon it, a drowsy aroma that permeated the entire
room arose. From beneath some rafter a cricket chirped in undertones that did
not disturb the story. The fire flickered and flared and lit the room dimly.
Through the small window the huge Christmas star could be seen.
"Twelve centuries ago," the child began, 'the good Englishman Wilfred
left his English home and on Christmas Eve sought out a certain tribe of
pagans who made living sacrifices to the 'blood oak tree.' Beneath this Oak
of Geismas he found these pagans about to sacrifice the little Prince Asulf to
the god Thor. Boldly he rushed in and after berating them for their cruelty
seized an ax and felled the blood tree. With his arms around the little
Prince he faced the angry tribe who were minded to kill him then and there.
Suddenly in the spot where the blood oak had stood there appeared a misty fir
tree. The tribesmen were awed as they watched many beautiful balls of light
settle amid the fir tree branches. Here they flickered and glowed while the
pagans backed away from this miracle in fear and trembling. That was the
last of the blood tree and its human sacrifices, and ever since the fir tree
has symbolized Christmas and that is why it is always green — year in and year
out."
Mother's head was nid-nid-nodding. She jerked it up and peered through the
gloom at her children. Both Ignace and Vilma sat with heads bowed upon folded
arms that rested on the table but the strange little boy was gone.
The fire had died out but the room was still deliciously warm and still
held that subtle, spicy fragrance that was so sweet. The mother stood up,
distressed that she had slept while their guest had taken his departure
without her Godspeed.
"Oh, dear. How sorry I am. He must have thought us poor hosts to sleep
as he talked." Or had he told the story? - perhaps she had dreamed it.
"Come now, sleepy heads! You have slept as our guest took his departure." She
turned down the covers of their beds as she spoke and the children awoke
yawning. They glanced through the window at the big star which was paling in
the gray dawn.
"Why, Mother! we cannot go to bed for already it is dawn." They pointed
to the growing light at the window.
"Why, so it is — how strange. Well then, 'tis the blessed Christmas
morning. A merry Christmas to you, my lambs, and may the Christ Child shower
you with blessings . . . ." Just then a soft light began to glow about the
tree and many colored balls of light flickered in and out of the little fir
tree branches, dying out as the children crept in awe toward it.
"Just as it happened to the fir tree in the story," breathed Vilma, and
her mother nodded. Then she had not dreamed it after all. The child had really
been here and had told them the legend. She went to the stove to restart the
fire. The star had now entirely left the heavens and the dawn grew brighter.
Suddenly the door again opened. The child again, Ignace thought, as he
started toward the door. However, it was not the child who entered the door
but a bearded man with a pack upon his back. What a time for strange
visitors, thought Ignace.
"Are you the good Saint Nickolas?" he started to ask but was interrupted
by a cry from his mother. "Beloved!" She reached the man and was folded to his
bosom. The pack was dropped to the floor. It seemed a long time to the puzzled
children before the two drew apart, then they saw that tears of joy were
flowing down their mother's cheeks.
Children, see! do you not know your father?"
"But . . . our father is dead . . . " They crept nearer searching the
bearded face for some trace of the remembered parent. The man drew children
and mother to him before the china stove.
"I was as one dead for a long time. Swept unconscious upon a strange
shore I was carried to a hospital and lay a long time knowing nothing, not
even my name. Slowly I recovered my strength but not my memory. I worked for
those who mined beneath the ground for gold. One day I myself found a large
nugget of gold. It was of great value and I sold it for much money. It did not
make me happy for I was still as one without a past. Several nights ago I had
a dream in which a beautiful child with hair like the sun and eyes as jewels
came to my bedside. He looked at me and it seemed as if a million sharp
needles pierced every inch of my body and a great singing sounded in my ears.
Above the uproar the child's voice came to me saying:
"'Small Ignace and his sister await thee,' and with a start I awoke and
remembered my name and my home place and all the past. I have traveled night
and day to reach you on this holy day. I stopped only long enough to buy
gifts." He pointed to the fallen pack. The children now climbed upon their
father and smothered him with embraces and kisses, for this was in truth their
father who had been dead and now by the grace of God was alive again.
Later the pack was inspected and found to contain sweets and toys and
coats for both children and the mother. Ignace, trying on the shoes, mused to
himself that only last night he had given away his only pair of shoes and now
he had two pairs, new and shining. The mother beckoned him inside, holding her
little Bible. She could not read but Ignace could, and Mother knew the place
where each verse could be found. She held the Bible out to Ignace. "Read
here," she said, her thumb marking a verse. Ignace took the Bible and read
aloud: "And whoso shall receive one such little child receiveth Me." Mother
and son looked into one another's eyes.
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