Evening Star Newspaper, December 20, 1925, Page 90

4 THE MIRACLE ‘THE SUNDAY' STAR, WASHINGTON, D. ¢ DECEMBER 20, 1925—PART 5. By Melville Davisson Post A Story of Christmas and the Handicap of Luxury. * T was not possible for the doctor to seo the man's face. But he did not wish to see it again. It had profoundly depress:d the end of life, the world The man heen talking velevant that seemed to vital ma —in Y was speaking. He had or a long time; an ir- ed discourse; matters e no relation to the e now r raed to known iracie 1o hap- arched to in the The was him it me Ame “The fcan 1 save be South- vist Iv. One rey ied th sty t this was All the 1 Church v it from rinated cells in iff-bees. The bay the night were the outlines of The sick man s only a sha a little wa il. He cou n nor the sea clear the water alone in- icinity of the ocean. The vacht might have been of a drawing room; there ily any motion. k man went on. he indicated the great albove him with a gesture, - could not see the ges ul emblem, the cross, ‘Religions are a profound mys- not : the 11 em! were South Am the dark the hive was dark pack o m he the ated deck ot the 1l was h T the stellation although I “Wor said. tery He paused ‘I was speaking of & miracle that ed voie The doctor Tt 15 lower and on u softer 1 ever read the Gospel Ac that gospel. T mean th Nativity as it is writte el n her stories of vouldn't understand it off suddenly in his di think story in that g it. You He broke course. Do you think it makes any differ- ence about names or the places where things happen?” The doctor replied to that. * he said. “It metimes deal of difference; a bol, It was an answe Qid not expect, but he pon it be true,” he said; “con sequently I mm not going to give a name or indicate the place-where this appened.”’ moved in the chair as though he sted his big body to a more com- able postu The doctor was in- ent. He was accustomed to the ns, the intimate storles of broken mu He knew the mental aptom, as he knew the quickened pulse and the falling temperature, at the end of life, and he respected it as <omething to be endured. He was si- Tre e query—a ment rather “Have you ber or is ever: 1 began his narrative with a query that was a state- than an interrogation. orgotten what a Decem- night is like in North America, rthing hot and soft to you? Well, try to remember what such a night is like. Think of the sky hard and bright, full of stars; the earth erisp: the air sharp—a bit carrying a light drift of snow—not heavy flakes that so quickly cover the vorld, but that thin mist of snow that drifts’ sometimes in the chill Think of a great country house on nill, & gravel road passing out at & pillired gate into a paved highw: leading across & raw land to the s And think of this place—this house. these park-grounds, as the only thing of beauty in a crude country walled in by mountains. You know the sort of country east the Appalachian range, running southwestward through | America He paused “Now vou have the p ne attached to it. about something else. T want you to + woman in this house. "I am 2oing to tell you about her. She wa he loveliest human creature that ever ived. You can't think of anytbing as lovely. Try it. “T'll tell you how she was dressed; I know all about it; I know each de- tail about it, and 1 know what she was doing. I know everything she did.” There was o break in the narrative. “You see, the miracle didn’t happen o me: it happened to her, and one does not forget the details of a mir- acle He went on “You keep the details in your mind, and when I get through vou will understand why I say she was the oveliest human creature that ever lived. I want you to think of her as she was that night—that Christmas ave—that night the miracle happened. She wore u house-gown of iris-blue, beautifully embroidered in Japanese designs; her yellow hair, soft, heavy wnd delicate, hung in two wrist-thick laits on either side of her face, ex- ending themselves over the irisblue to the knee. Her features were very nearly perfect, her eyes large, the mouth small, but the dominating beauty of the woman wuas her ex- quisite figure. One never could wish to change a contour of it. “You see, she had been a beauty . with n ry to think See from the cradle; it was a sort of pro- | sesslon to her—a sort of genius in her. The will behind events had designed her for a life of pleasure—not for the Bort of life she had gotten into. She wes standing before the wood fire in the drawing room of the big house. I want vou to start in with that so ~ou will get the details of the miracle Cclear in your mind. “She was alone. The last servant had gone on this night to the village. The house was silent. She thought there was a vague menace in this silence."” e paused. “You se=e, Doctor, I know all about this. I krow the very impressions she had, but it was not a sense of fear that impregnated this silence. Th's woman wasn't afraid. She was mov- ing toward an irrevocable act, deliber- itely considered. She had the will to (ismiss any peril in events, but tragic happenings cannot be willed away. A jack of fear does not face them out of life. She knew the awful wreckage that might lie just beyond the door, \s one knows vaguely how the liner hnder one’s foot may be on the in- ~tant ripped up by the arctic ice, or the gleaming express piled up in the canyon under a washed out bridge. ‘These things might happen, but one took the risk.” He broke off_suddenly. “Do you understand what T am en- deavoring to tell you?” “Yes,” sald the doctor; “go on.” [P 7 was onty vaguely interested. Ho was wondering how soon this voice would close. It was the worst case of embolism hel had ever seen. ‘\lready the man's legs were para- I}“{;L )!low soon would a detached Jragment floating in the blood-stream s his heart? Bt in spite of that lack of interest arred with the vices of | want you to | of wind | he was beginning in his imagination to grasp the detalls of this picture. They were clear, accurate details, an {in his mind the doctor saw the woni- an and the house. The monotonous voice of the man held him, and he seemed to move up 1o the extraordinary scene as one ad vances to window. He forgot about the dying man in the chair. e began to live in the tense drama of the story The voice in the dark went on “The drawing room was in a soft light. The windows were covered with heavy blue curtains, closely drawn; u great blue divan stood across the room before the fire; the lamp on the table beside it wa screened by a shade; the logs in the fireplace smoldered “The n did not move und this in fon, but her face har ened which she, herself had insisted upon—was the only th of beauty this raw land. T town beyond was wathern village, witl an industrial development superit posed upon it, and over ag ¢ the mountains and the | people inconceivably primitive The her seemed “Because | i | | otive husband entin the oving ntal fortune he inheritec n built up here must he At T and his own life to vance th civilization this = clean its government, and elevate f Duty, obligation’ her shoulders ut the he wanted a home and a he smiled, the corners of her lovely mouth dimpling at this ex treme absurdity. What she intended to have was the thing for which n ture, with so much care, had so ex quisitely formed her—a life of pleasure! “It had become clear in the few months of her marriage, and now on this night the step should be irrev ocably taken. She was no wavering coward weakly entering on some half- The man was already lage; she was to call him on phone when she was ready That was the signal. Fortunate! great National highwa ced, | smooth in Winter, passed before the { gardens; the biz inc.osed car wouid race east. kverything was arranged— the assumed names, the false pass ports, and then the care-free, wild, lovely life at Mentone, at Como. | Puris; a life of beauty, & life of pleas ure! “But § with care “’She was not quite sure a band, for all her knowledge of him; these big, simple, kindly men were sometinies deadly persons in a tragic affair. Her face softened a little at the memories of him. All were affected in some de- gree b devotion that never failed And if one were ill, or tired, or old, or unhappy She put the reflection resolutely aside. He | neighboring city on one of his plans for industrial schools in the mountain he had mussed a train connection and could not arrive tonight. W | i at| ad heen necessary to move | bout her hus- | had _gone to | fo! be fin 1ze beh! robe her husband! And she remem: d how, with a man's clumsy | sse, he had hidden a bulky pack-| the clothing in his ward-| \wining that he was conceal- | there heautiful mink coat which she leverly permitted | him to i wished. Well, she | would 1 tonight! And it was * | the bad s she 1t et thing: ‘ ik fire threw the clgarette into the linked her fingers behind hex ud lifted her tirm, lithe body, x the muscles. She was ineredibly that pose—a pagan doll| 1 head crowned with its straw-colored halr and her i chetah's! telephone in On her way 1 trippedd was startled ind halt i tendin: lovely Her sm heavy body Ehe in uy hutle stumbled ent ) the wnd rang back hild wailed feebly emained on an involunt hreast L just here, be But it was not s not far in the close | house, and it | waillng cry went | 1t appeared to fill} spaces of the house, | t d itself, to, fill the world. | the startled woman it] scss it quality even more It groped about in the | silen, though it blindly omething it was seeking! It was quality In the weak, feeble voice, help less, dependent, in distress. “She went to a window of the draw- ing room on the side of the house to ward the direction from which the seen to emerge. It was rly a very young child, and it was ryving on this side of the house, very In the direction of the cow nds ry i und wa hous But thonght Je her the vast empty disturt “She had herself now completely in hand “She had been startled. In spite of her imagined composure she had been on some strain, and a play of fancy had thereby attended the arrival of this event. She was able now calmly to regard it and to consider what should be done There was, of cours one thing only to be done. he must find out who had arrived and get rid| of them. “Witnesses here of the events ubou! to happen n t be prevented at all cost. There was no one to send. She o herself. “But the child puzzled d disturbed her. There was no voung child among the servants or among the tenants of the estate. Perhaps the cry had been | simul. was some sort of ruse. Not like! The sound was, beyond ques tion, the feeble walling of a very young child “Nevertheless she would take a pre- caution. must jon to the house.’ { | young “HER HUSBAND WAITED ALL NIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE GROUNDS WITH HIS WEAPON.” “Fortune favored those who seized her firmly. “She had sent the servants off to a dance in the village, and laid out the plan. Every detail was complete. It all turned now on a mere word over a telephone. “She got a cigarette out of an octa- gon cloisonne box on the table by the divan, lighted it, and returned to the fire. How strange that huge, clysmian events could be made to turn on an act so simple; at a word over the tele- phone in the butler's pantry a gate of bronze would swing heavily on its closing with its noiseless bolts the way of another! And if she were silent, lite would go on as it was! “She drew in the smoke and exhaled it in tiny blue threads. She glanced ahout the room. She loved it, and had taken an extreme care in bring- ing out the beauty of it. She realized how, even with the difficult Christma: decoration—the holly, the mistletoe, the inevitable green—her sure taste had, nevertheless, preserved the soft, vague charm of this room. “And suddenly, as though it were a new impression, the significance of the night appeared. It was Christmas eve! She smiled; the conventlons had been kept; she had, even, a present [} hinge, opening one avenue of life and | “She went up to her husband’s room and pulled out the drawer of the high-boy where he kept a pistol The big automatic was not there. He never tock this weapon with him on| any journey, and it was usually in! this drawer. Doubtless he had placed t otherwhere about the room, and | she thought of searching for it; but in- | stead she returned to the hall below, got an electric flash, put on a pair of stout rubbers and a heavy coat,| and went out. Persons attended by a baby could not present any element of danger. “There was no wind now and the thin drift of snow had disappeared. The night was hard and clear; the earth | crisp with frost; the sky, domed over, | was sown with stars. There was no moon, but the world was filled with a clear ‘white light. She went around the house, passed the long terrace on the south side and along the path ong the oak trees. How bright the stars were! A planet divectly beyond her at the end of the path gleamed like an immense Jewel. “She went toward it. “And she smiled at a vagrant fancy. 1f it were Venus it was neat augury— she would be racing presently in a { | and indicated the man beyond her in | ing out | was determined. | derangement. | venture in the morning of the world. star. In the meantime it stood yon above the cow-barn. The doo: was open when she ar- rived. She stepped up inside and took | the electric flash out of her pocket. | The battery was nearly expended, but | in the dim licht she could make out a woman standing before her, a chiid in her arms, and 4 man in a sheep. skin coat fasteniug a mule in one of the emply cow-stalls ! The man stopped abruptl | “Do you understand that, doctor?” | The doctor was startled. He had | forgotten about the narrator in the chair. He had entered into the scer of the story: he had been following he woman, both in her physical en vironment and in her tr emotlonal perplexity ¥ he s T understand it derstan as . mirele Agai man in the chair mude sou of a gesture which the doc TRk 18 a story s understand it but T don't 1 could 1 That's the reason here,” he said. "I vealize this, to understand everything about it right here. You see, I am coming to that part of the Gospel ac- | cording to St. Luke that T was talking | about u while ugo.” *oE o w ¥ WENT on as thoush there had Leen no break In the narrative; as though he were reading a story from « book of romance. he knew who these people wera rhey were mountain people. The man the woman now | Her voice was soft and | wre often the voices of | these mountain women. “‘Weo got | lost; an’ the mule came in here. 1! reckon she knew there was w stable; | animals know a lot.’ ot “The woman in the door echoed the word in astonishment. *‘How could you be lost? were you going?" ‘We were going home; we live in the mountain.’ “*And you lost your way? sible! Every one knows about here.’ ‘We don’ town before. “The woman in the door scemed, all at once, to realize the situation be- fore her. *“You, night I stopped just wanted you to gentle, Where Impos- the roads We never came to the with u like this! young child, out on You can’t remain here. You must come with me, to the house, at once. I heard the child cry. It must be cold.’ he others answered softly ‘Yes, he did cry. I don't think he was cold. I don't know what made him cry. “Then she c shadow “But ne forward out of the ¢ darkness that enveloped her. | t the threshold she paused | the cow-stall | *‘Can he feed the mule? We've had | our supper. . But the mule might be| hungry.’ ***Certainly, feed the mule and come | “The man did not reply an spoke for him. ‘No, he'd rather stay 5ot a big sheepskin coat. be cold: he can sleep in the hay.’ “Then she added, as though idea were a comfort to her: *“*Animals are friendly She came out iuto the light of the great house The wom- He's n't| here He wi the | nd | suw rly. | he had the slender figure of the mountain women; the durk | hair and the olive skin. She wore a linsey dress wover fn some loom of the hills and dyed with copperas; narrow shawl, hand-woven of soft wool, also dyed with copperas, was around her head. The baby in her arms was covered with a white lambskin. ‘The cows, scarcely visible in the| line of stalls, disturbed doubtlbss by the man seeking food for the mule. uttered a low sound. The sound fol- lowed the woman and the ch as they came out from the stable and entered on the path toward the house “Half-way up the hill, at the first fringe of oak trees, thé mistress of the ho » looked back. “The path was a band of silver ris »f darkness, as over the rim of the world, and under the vague white light of the myriad stars| clustered above her. the mountain woman, in her garments dyed with copperas, was a golden figure, that followed bearing a child in its arms. “And suddenly by some en-| chantment the scene, to the one who | led, became unreal. She fled, and the | other followed! The intent in things had changed. This was a figure from which she wished to escape. It must not overtake her. At any cost, at any hazard, she must evade it. The fancy seemed to extend itself; to overlie the duration and the vicissitudes of a life. To extend itself Into every event of that life of pleasure upon which she Always that figure would follow; she could never escape. It would be there just behind her, in- evitable and insistent like a shadow. And the woman, stimulated by the fancy, visualized in_exquisite detail the exotic scenes of the life into which | she was about to enter.” * *x x X 'HE man's volce ceased. He was silent for some time before the doc- tor in the dark by the rafl of the yacht realized that the monotonous voice @!d not go on. Tt was a strange voice; there seemed to be no emotion in it; no feeling in it, and yet it evidently issued from the deepest feecling, from the most profoundly disturbed emo- tions. For a moment the doctor was alarmed. Had the dying man ceased to exist in the midst of this narrative?| Finally he addressed him. “Well,” he sald, “what happened?” The voice went on then. “I suppose you would call this a hallucination—some sort of a mental But it was real to this woman; 1t was just as real as the| deck of this yacht, as this hot night, | as that great flaming cross up yonder, She sald that she saw the Lake of Como. “Ever been to Como, doctor? It's heaven on this earth! She said she saw it as clearly as she had ever seen it in life. A white villa dreamy in the sun; a path leading from the green- tiled terrace to the water; a narrow path descending through the flowering shrubs. The lake below it looked like a say; ivve; it looked like a molten <apphire poured into the cup of the!| hills. She suw a man ascending on! this path whose features and whose | figure were vitalized with expectancy. | He advanced among the flowering shrubs, like some errant god at ad- ife paused. “I didn’t make up that sentence, doctor. That's the way she thought about it. In a moment she would be in his arms: and there to the left of the path, where his hand, if he should extend it, would touch her golden gar- ment, was this woman! It was a per- sisting obsession. It was in some strange manner a part of herself That's how she felt about it. It we= like a defect in the eve, that no straf no trick of vision would eliminat ves, that was it. It was something ~tched forever on the lens of the eye. She could no longer see without it. Let her try. She returned from a warden, heavy with odor, through a casement door into a great room of masked dancers, her mouth thrilling with a kiss; a saturnalia of sound and color; every fairy costume, swinging | substantial lit recalled also the | dowry; and to further extend that per- “THE VISITOR SAT ON THE DIVAN BEFORE THE WOOD FIRE, HER YELLOW HOMESPUN DR LINES OF ALMOST CLASSIC DIGNITY; THE CHILD LAY ON THE SILK CUSHION BEYOND HER.” . WilH ITS LONG SKIRT. FALLEN INTO but adamant, was this radiant thing. “Anger, resentment seized her. “Why should her joy in life be nega- tived by u thing like this? Its very immobility was appalling. It neith couxed nor menaced. It remained al-| the same, part of her, pro. jected eternally through the lens of the eye—a sight defect.® “The resentment moved would assert her will. She would rid of this intruder. And with he hand extended toward the latch of the door, she turned. And at once the disturbing fancy fell away like the un- | fabric of nightmare « mountain woman kly beside her. The Therc was friendly soft voice cold? You her. There we and her o} woman sympathy ‘Did you pretty fast *I'm sorry walked | I was thinking thing elsc | 1 know what that's like. You can do a lot of things when you are | thinking and not know about it. Be-| fore he was born'—she indicated the child an affectionate note of the | voice—T used to do all my work with- | out knowing I'd d it I was by| myself most of the time. SPBEHIND the leaded glass of door hung a great wreath holly crimson with berries. The sym- | bol recalled the significance of the | night to the mistress of the house, and | venture upon which e v determined. And for = | moment she was annoyed by the pres- ence of the mountain woman—un: fortunate that she should appear just at this time to require a shelter. “Stfll,»uh& could not deny it, on a| pight of Winter, to a mother with al Better, of course. been avoided. It might make matter: trifle more difficult But such person could be easily managed. Be- sides. and she smiled as she opened | the door, it would be a subtle touch | for her husband to find a mother and chlld in his house instead of & pagan | 'Come in." “She removed the rubbers and the coat, and led the way into the draw ing room, i * “Shall T get you something to eat?”" | “It seemed w queer reversal of af fairs that she, a_pampered exquisite, | cceustomed to the minutest service, should be, herself, serving this moun- | taln wonmn. And, out of some per- | version in the fancy, she selected the | very finest articles for that service; a superb tray, a luster bowl, very nearly | priceless, and a napkin from a Queen’s the of if it could have | version, she bore them in and present ed them to the mountain woman as though she were a mald in her serv ice. “She was Impressed with changed atmosphere of the room. “The essence of things there had ceived comething to complete it. That harmony which her faultles: taste had ceaselessly endeavored to create had arrived. “The visitor sat on the divan before the wood fire, her yellow homespun dress, with its long skirt, fallen into lines of almost classic dignity; the child lay on the silk cushion beside her, and in a mirror beyond she could see her own figure, advancing with the servi “And in spite of this play-acting she felt humbled and put down. “In what hidden virtue lay the dis- tinction of the scene? A girl from the most primitive life in the crudest clothing with a child! “And yet the very scents of the room had changed: the perfume, the exotic clgarettes had been replaced by the fresh odors of the fields, as when windows are thrown open on a Spring morning. “‘She put the tray down on the divan beside her visitor. She indicated the child. i ‘Is he asleep?’ ‘Yes." *“*You came from the village?’ ‘Yes, we had to go to pay our taxes. If you don't pay your taxes he state sells your land. We didn't want to lose our home—not now." “The mountain woman spoke softly, gently. She went on. ““The sheriff don't come through the mountains to collect the taxes. He sets a day for everybody to come to the town.’ ‘And you made that journey in ‘Winter, in weather like this, with your child?”' “The mountain woman seemed em- barrassed to reply. ‘‘‘He—he wasn't born then. He was born in the town. I had to go along when we went to pay the taxes: there was nobody to stay with me.’ * ok ok ok ¢'T'HE mistress of the house was amazed at these simple details. But she made no further inquiry. She was seized with a sudden impulse; a longing to uncover the child, handle it, caress it. But Instead she made some futile inquiry. Would the child take any injury from its exposure to the cold—the night—the journey? She had heard it cry. 'No, it won't hurt him." *‘As though nothing could hurt him: as though her affection for this child, out of its own virtue, put him beyond injury; was in itself all-protective. “And then she repeated what she had said at the cow barn: “ ‘I don't know what made him cry.’ “The mistress of the house made some vague apologv to cover her ab- sence 'from the room, and went out. This was madness. What was hap- pening to her firm fiber? The night the | vived her spirit of revolt, he { She had provided shelter. | among | Presently the bells of the vil | him for the duration of his epheme | reign, to which may be traced m “It had been brewed by the monks of Chartreuse before France doomed them to exile, and given to her bit of treasure. The potent liqueur will adventure. e would pack the ar tcles she required and go. What had woman of the hills to do with her 1. com Jligations re tort for the night. Her | were ended She paused, consldering swiftly what articles she should take —jewels? No, the gowns h purchased with her husband's and the jewels given by h stifled, her atur tense. thieves—as 1a cut and respect the coins in the of the tim! Murder! It might be very nearly that. This man ved her What would he do? he did not permit he flect. The gowns, the jewels could re main; she would not need them Fortunately, the one with whom she went on this adventure had posses slons as great s the one she doned. What time was it? still the world was! “Sha threw open the of the dining room and throat nch tood out on | the terrace. ‘It must be approaching midnight ge would ng. But how still it was, and how ie dome of the stars had closed down, drawn in on the house! That flaming planet. Had it moved? “'She looked up. “For what mystery did everything wait? What was about to happen? “Then she stepped back into dining room and closed the doors. The wicker flask on the shelf of the closet caught her eye. She swallowed what remained of the liqueur out of lnm mouth of the flask. It steadied her. the How | | e put up her s to her hair, to the exquisite gown, to her throat, as though to tidy her appearance for the decisive ac Then she went into | the butle pantry. | “This was the only tel { house connecting direc village. It was an Hig er “She ‘he sil press tself as wit pectancy | | in the house w It deepened und exte L pre d, imate and immovable t stralned toward he d waited! ie approached the telephone, took the receiver, and put out her and to the buttc But her hand re mained extended, receiver slipped “There was some ort. The : door thr ed, und - woman’s arms. | derness the figure bos held her the ne behind her! s with an im buntain womar ugh which she with a cry she | mense stood had just ente flung herself With an infin gathered her in t e he: : rough garment against rms around her. And s gh some subtle distill tion, she seemed to flow into this wom an, 1 blend with her—to cease to he 15 hecone hy divine enchant ment the cre that had received her. wly, as t HE narration, quer: stopped abruptly in hi: nd put a direct, sharp | to the doctor. “Now what was that?” Again the doctor was startied. THe | looked about him in the darkness. He | thought the r | n meant some eve: Christmas Customs From __(Continued from_Second Page.) y generally followed in these Win- solstice celebrations of the pagans. foward the end of the festival a king was chosen and much power granted al n of the Twelfth Night revels of later years Onc of the commonest of customs and one that has withstood the chang- ing vears seems directly traceable to those pagan ceremonies and is therefore one of the oldest. The Druids, ancient priests of the Britons, preached in groves and regarded oaks and mistletoe as cbjects of veneraion. With the coming of the Christians customs that had grown out of these beliefs were retained and adapted to the new services, and from them it appears probable that our present ay use of evergreens and mistietoe has come. It would seem, then, that these pleasant-scented and plctur- esque decorations, though used now because of their speciaily “Christ- associations, rey t but nheritance of a b supe stition. Light was shed upon the Christmas customs of the earliest Christians with the opening of the catacombs. On’ their rock-hewn tombs and walls have been found writings and paint- ings depicting practices and hopes that gave the martyrs most pleasure. ric We find that in their subterranean ! temples they met in secret on many Christmases to sing their songs of praise and to retell the bheautiful story of the holy night. Those hazardous underground meetings have been referred to as the “early under- mining of paganism by Christianity, and thelr songs of praise as “muffled music which came like a prelude to & later triumph song.” Constantine's reign in the fourth century marks the beginning of brighter days for the Christians, and the Christmases were brought out of thelr hiding places and made oc- casions of happiness and ‘“Alleluias. So prominent a place did it eventually come to occupy in the yearly festivals that Bishop Gregory Nazianzen (who died in 389) cautioned all Christians against “feasting to excess, dancing and crowning the doors (practices de- rived from the heathens), urging the ! after an elebration of the festival heavenly and not an earthly manner. Early in the Christian era Christ mas was celebrated in the British Isles and there, as elsewhere, the re- liglous observances were ming'ed with anclent customs of both the Britons and the Romans As 1 a8 114 three ' British bishops—those of York, London and Camuiodunum-— participated in a council at Arles, and the canons framed there became the law of the British church. Under hese favorable conditions Christmas became more than ever an occasion of great rejoicing. But with the out- going of the Romans preceding the Norman conquest and the incoming of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes, with thelr heathenish beliefs and customs, conditions were seriously disturbed. For at least 150 years Christ and the god Thor were worshiped side by side. Some historical characters of that time, feeling entirely too uncertain to take a definite religious stand, resoly- ed to serve Christ and the older gods together. Reodwald of East Anglia was advancing. Matters could be no in the vast maze of the dance, and there is an island, surrounded by this riot, but never overrun by it, as longer delayed. She must pull herself together. She went over to a closet in the dining room, poured out a glass of great motor toward the lure of that'though excluded Ly a wall invisible ligueur, and drank it off. "~ erected in the same royal temple a pagan and a Christian altar which fronted each other. But by 587 the odds were in favor of Christianity. On Christmas day of Early Days | that year 10, persons were bap- tized in Kent, and Christmas now be- | came the principal festival of the | year, the kings sumptuously enter- | talning the great men of their do- minions, and_charity being lavished at this time no other, upon the poor. All through English history we find important events, such as royal wed- | dings, baptisms, cor ation and con. ferences, held on Christmas day Ma- tilda, daughter of Henry 1, was de clared her father’s successor on Christ. mas day, 1126, at a general assemb! of English and an barons and the clergy, S of Blois was crowned at Westmins Abbey duri the Christmas season of 1135 In a “Complaint of Christma: printed by John Taylor in 1646, the Water Poet says “All the libert | | | | | | ter and harmless sports, merry gambols, dances and fris with which the toiling plough- man ang labourer once a year we wont to be recreated, and their spirits and hopes revived for a whole twelve- month, are now extinct and put out of use, in such a fashion as if they had never been. Thus ure the merry lords of bad rule at Westminster; nay, more, their madness hath extended itself to the very vegetables; senseless trees, herbs und weeds are in a profane esti- mation amongst them—holly, ivy, mis. tletoe, rosemary, bays, are accounted ungodly branches of superstition for our entertainment. And to roast loin of beef, to touch a collar of brawn, to take a ple, to put a plum in the pottage pot, to burn a great can dle, or to lay one block the more in the fire for your sake, Merry Christmas, is | enough to make 2 man to be suspected and taken for a Christian, for which | he shall be apprehended for commit | ting high Parliament Treason."” Thus the pendulum seems to have been swung quite as far in one direc tion by the Puritan zealots as it ha gone the other way at the hands o { many vain-glorious monarchs und dig nitaries. But this new order of thing. did not last long. Even before the ac jcession to the throne of Charles 1! mobs resisted with arms the would-b enforcers of the new laws, and wit Charles at the helm all went - | Christmastide, at least—quite as mer: as a marriage bell. In both town and city the spirit of hospitality and good fellowship reigned again and continued without more seri ous interruptions than those of a tem- { porary nature because of wars Read's Weekly Journal of January 9, , contains the following by Thomas North, which splendidly describes both he setting and atmosphere of what we now consider “An Old English “hristmas” and which was inspired by he writer's visit to the home of a friend in London: “It was the house of an eminent and worthy merchant, and tho’, sir, I have been accustomed in my own country to what may very well be called good housekeeping, yet I assure you I hou'd have taken this dinner to have been provided for a whole parish, rather than for about a dozen gentie men. “Tis impossible for me to xive | vou half our bill of fare, so you must be content to know that we had tur- kies, geese, capons, puddings of a lozen sorts more than I had ever seen n my life, besides brawn, roast beef, ind many things of which I know not he names, mine'd pyes in abundance, and a thing they call plumb pottage, vhich may be good for ought I know, | hough it seems to me to have 50 dif- ferent tastes. The god of plenty seemed to reign here and to make everything perfect.” i | his tirr | low deck when | warned vou the mental had ever just as thr it way sear ng ir into every face. to the tables c te she stopped, o eve bat the m night wes ned face showed pt had grown heav; = sald he looke a in box. She was alone. t her were the beauty and splendor of Paris; th gorgeous e anza of the oper vast, heavenly muslc. But she did not regard It. Her eyes wandere furtively, despe through the in vond her. The of the hox into th down over the ba belo mar time the sc T The doct ple vet x Paris. sat e ope! ¥ foyer, and trade of the st from Mont- Tooked iirs was leaning He was trying to make out him in the darkness 1 to understand this sht he knew who the had seen that face be- ad been first called change in the allucination. t the woman ir a5 life life t this man had no lived it. He was story. He man_was. thou, the story had she had escaped escaped it e ¥ here; he sat there in the darkness with' these physical evidences upon him, and now suddenly he went on L sort of desperate energy in the thicl voice “No duty, no ob ation! When no vow is kept! You can't deny the years their toll of you. License makes way for license. 1 she saw her own face—what it would have been—peer- ing over the rail of the balustrade. Tt was awful! The soft, straw-colored hair, harsh with henna; the eyes crow-footed; rouge, stenctl, every futile device. ‘HE voice changed. The emotion slipped out of it. on with the narrative. “The woman in the silence, in the dim light of the butler's pantry, put out her hands in a great gesture of rejection. Then she began to stagger about, groping for the door. »mething lured her. he must find it; it was here; somewhere in this house; but how tired she was! How her knees dragged! “She came finally into the drawing- room as through heav Z child covered with the white lambskin lay asleep on the silk cushions at the and of the blue divan, in the soft glow f the fire. She flung herself down be- side it and gathered it up in her arms and far off the bells of the village be an to ring.” Again the man's voice stopped; eain the doctor, living through eve letail of the story, put the query th moved him; “And what happened?” For a time there was no reply Then the voice in the darkness seemed o tall off. “It was the thing that didn't hap. pen. “You It went nd see, her husband had been ubout it, and he had walted oll night at the gate of the grounds with this weapon for the two persons in the moter to come out. He came aylight, and found his wif; isleep on’ the divan before the fire. “But the mountain woman,” said the doctor; “the man with the mule he child, what had become of them Did not the man watching at the gate see them when they came out? Did he not see them when they entered What became of them?” The voice of the dying man became stronger; it took on almost the firm ness and the vigor of health. “It's the Gospel according to St Luke,” he sald, “‘that I wished you to remember. I mean the story of the atlvity according to that Gospel. Tesus of Nazareth was born in Bethlehem of Judea when Joseph and Mary journeved into that village to be raxed. You see, doctor—" The voice ceased as though fingers had closed on the throat. The doctor knew what had hap- pen=d, but he did not move. The de tached e¢mbolus had floated into the heact. He looked up at the cross of stars hanging in the sky. And sud- denly far away the great bell of the cathedral began to sound in the still, thick dark. A (Copyright. 1925.)