(Adapted for Children, Six to Twelve Years.)
1. SAINT CHRISTOPHER
Once there was a very strong man who could carry such heavy loads that he was called “Offero,” meaning “The Bearer.” He was very proud of his strength and said, “I will serve only the greatest king on earth.” He found a rich and powerful king and served him, until one day he saw his master tremble. “Why do you tremble, O king?” he asked. “Because I fear Satan, who is too strong for me.” “Then I will serve him,” said Offero. He went at once and served Satan, until one day he noticed his new master tremble before a cross, the cross on which Christ hung to overcome the strength of Satan. Then Offero went everywhere in search of the stronger master, Christ. He found a boy who said: “Yes, Christ is the strongest King on earth or in heaven. But to find him you must cross a broad river whose current is so swift that men are drowned in trying to cross. If you serve Christ by carrying over on your strong shoulders the weak and the little ones, you shall find the Christ of your search on the other side.” Offero built a hut beside the swift-flowing river, and whenever he saw a poor traveler trying to cross the stream, he bore him on his strong shoulders. Well was he named “The Bearer,” for he carried many across, and not one was lost. His staff was a great palm tree which he had plucked up by the roots. One night as he was resting in his hut he heard the cry of a little child, calling, “Offero, will you carry me over this night?” A weak little child stood near the river. Offero helped him on his strong shoulders and, staff in hand, began to cross the flood. But the wind blew furiously, the waves rose high, and there was a roaring in his ears as if a great ocean were let loose. The weight upon his shoulders bore him down until he feared he would sink. But he held firmly to his strong staff and at last reached the other bank and placed the child safely on the ground. “What have I borne?” cried Offero; “it could not have been simply a young child, for the weight was too great!” Just then the child suddenly changed into the form of the strong Christ-King, who said: “Offero, as thou didst wish to serve me, I accepted thee as my servant. Thou hast borne, not the weight of a child, but the weight of a world. Thou shalt be called ‘Christ-Offer—the Christ-Bearer,’ and shalt serve me always. Plant thy staff in the ground, and it shall put forth leaves and fruit.” Christopher did so, and the dry staff flourished as the palm tree, and was covered with clusters of fruit; but the Christ-Child had vanished from his sight.
OFFERO ... BEGAN TO CROSS THE FLOOD
2. THE FIR TREE
Far away in the forest grew a little Fir Tree. Around him stood tall pines and firs so large that the little Fir felt very discontented, wishing so much to be like the other trees. “If I were tall like them,” sighed the Fir, “I would spread my branches so far the birds would build their nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew, I should bow grandly like them.” So unhappy was the little tree that he took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the bright clouds. One day in winter when the snow was on the ground, a little rabbit jumped right over the little tree’s head. Oh, that made him so angry! Two years after, the wood-cutters came and cut down several of the largest trees and carried them away. “Where do they take these trees?” the Fir Tree said; and a stork replied: “As I was flying here from Egypt I saw great masts on the ships. That is what large trees become.” “Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to be a mast and sail on the sea!” sighed the Fir Tree.
Christmastime came, and many young trees were cut down, some that were even smaller than the Fir Tree, and men carried them away in wagons. “Where do they take those trees?” the Fir Tree asked; and the sparrows chirped: “We know! we know! We peeped in at the windows in the town and saw little trees like those planted in the middle of a warm room, and made beautiful with gilded apples, gingerbread, toys, and a hundred lights.” “I wonder if anything like that will ever happen to me?” cried the discontented Fir Tree; “that would be better than crossing the sea. Oh, when will Christmas come?” The wind and air and sun and birds tried to make the Fir Tree happy, but he only grew more discontented with his lot. One day, just before Christmas, the wood-cutter came again, and this time the Fir Tree was the first to be cut down and carried off. But he could not think of happiness now, for he was sad at leaving his home in the forest. He knew that he would never again see his dear old friends, the trees, the bushes, the birds, and the flowers. That morning the Fir Tree was stuck upright in a tub that stood on a rich carpet in a splendid parlor. Some ladies came in and began to dress his boughs with very pretty things—sugar-plums, apples, oranges, walnuts, dolls; red, blue, and white candles; and to the top was fastened a glittering golden star that shone as brightly as any star in the sky. The tree looked very beautiful. “Oh,” sighed the tree, “I wish all the candles were lighted! Will the trees of the forest come to see me? Will the sparrows peep in at the windows? I wonder if I shall stay pretty like this always?” At last the candles were lighted; the folding doors opened; happy children trooped into the room shouting and dancing with joy at the sight of the wonderful Christmas tree. Older people came too, to look at the sight and enjoy the presents which were taken one after the other from the tree, until all the candles were burned low and put out and only the glittering star remained. The happy children danced about the room with their pretty toys, and no one cared for the tree or looked at him except the nurse, who peeped among his branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten. All night the tree stood in darkness. In the morning the servants dragged the tree from the tub and placed him upstairs in the dark attic, where he stayed all winter, hidden away from sight and forgotten by every one. In the spring the tree was carried down-stairs and taken out into the yard. “Now I shall live again,” said the Fir Tree, and he spread out his branches. But alas! his leaves were all withered and yellow, yet the star of gold still hung in the top, glittering in the sunshine. A boy seeing the star ran up and pulled it off the tree. “Look what was sticking to this ugly old Christmas tree,” he cried, trampling on the branches until they cracked under his feet. A few minutes later the gardeners boy came up with an axe and chopped the tree into small pieces and threw them into the fire. And just as he was dying, the Fir Tree saw the little boy wearing the star on his breast and sighed, “The night I was crowned with that beautiful golden star was the happiest night of my life.” And he knew that night of happiness was the longed-for Christmas Eve.—Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.
3. THE CHRISTMAS GIFT
Once in the sunny land of France there was a little girl named Piccola, who lived all alone with her mother. They were very poor, and little Piccola had no dolls or toys, and she was often hungry and cold. One day when her mother was ill, Piccola worked hard all day trying to sell the stockings which she knit, while her own little bare feet were blue with cold. As Christmas drew near she said to her mother: “I wonder what Saint Nicholas will bring me this year? I have no stocking to hang in the fireplace, but I shall put my wooden shoe on the hearth for him. He will not forget me, I am sure.” “Do not think of it this year, my dear child,” replied her mother; “we should be glad if we have bread enough to eat.” But Piccola could not believe she would be forgotten. On Christmas Eve she put her little wooden shoe on the hearth before the fire and went to sleep to dream of good Saint Nicholas. The poor mother looked at the shoe and thought how disappointed the little girl would be to find it empty in the morning, and sighed to think she had nothing to put in it. When the morning dawned Piccola awoke and ran to her shoe, and there in it lay something with bright eyes looking up at her. A little swallow, cold and hungry, had flown into the chimney and down to the room and had crept into the shoe for warmth. Piccola danced for joy, and clasped the shivering swallow to her breast. “Look! Look!” she said to her mother. “A Christmas gift, a gift from the good Saint Nicholas!” and she danced again in her little bare feet. Then she fed and warmed the little bird, and cared for it tenderly all winter long. In the spring she opened the window for it to fly away, but it lived in the woods near-by, and sang often at her door.—Adapted from “Child Life in Many Lands,” Blaisdell.
4. THE GOLDEN COBWEBS
(A story to be told by the Christmas tree)
The night before Christmas the tree was all trimmed with pop-corn, and silver nuts, and golden apples, and oranges, and walnuts, and dolls, and bonbons, and a hundred colored candles. It was placed safely out of sight in a locked room where the children could not see it until the proper time. But ever so many other little house-folks had seen it. Pussy saw it with her great gray eyes. The house-dog saw it with his steady brown eyes. The yellow canary saw it with his wise bright eyes. Even the little mice had a good peek at it. But there was some one who had not seen the Christmas tree. It was the little gray spider! The housemother had swept and dusted and scrubbed to make everything clean for the Christ-Child’s birthday and every spider had scampered away. At last the little gray spider went to the Christ-Child, and said: “All the others see the Christmas tree, dear Christ-Child, but we are cleaned up! We like to see beautiful things too!” The Christ-Child was sorry for the little spider, and he said, “You shall see it.” So on Christmas morning before any of the children were awake, the spiders came creeping, creeping, creeping down the attic stairs, along the hall, under the door, and into the room where the Christmas tree was standing. Oh! it was beautiful to their little eyes as they looked upon it as much as they liked. Then father spider, mother spider, and all the spider family went creeping, creeping, creeping up the tree and all over its branches, and in great joy hurried back to their home in the attic. The Christ-Child looked down to see if the tree was all ready for the children, and oh!—it was all covered over with cobwebs! “How badly the housewife will feel at seeing those cobwebs!” said the Christ-Child. “I will change them into golden cobwebs for the beauty of the Christmas tree.” So that is how the Christmas tree came to have golden cobwebs.—Adapted from “How to Tell Stories to Children,” by Sara Cone Bryant.
5. THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE
One cold, wintry night, two little children were sitting by the fire when suddenly they heard a timid knock at the door. One of the children ran quickly and opened it. Outside in the cold and darkness, they saw a poor little boy, shivering, without shoes on his feet, and dressed in thin, ragged clothing. “Please, may I come in and warm myself?” he said. “Yes, indeed,” cried the children, “you shall have our place by the fire. Come in!” The little stranger boy came in and the kind children shared their supper with him and gave him their bed, while they slept on the hard bench. In the night they were awakened by strains of sweetest music, and, looking out of the window, they saw a band of children in shining garments coming near the house. They were playing on golden harps, and the air was full of Christmas music. Then lo! the Stranger-child, no longer in rags, but clad in silvery light, stood before them, and in his soft voice said: “I was cold and you let me in. I was hungry and you fed me. I was very tired and you gave me your nice soft bed. I am the Christ-Child who comes to bring peace and happiness to all kind children. As you have been good to me, may this tree every year bring rich gifts to you.” He broke a branch from the fir tree that grew near the door and planted it in the ground, and disappeared. But the branch grew into the Tree of Love, and every year it bore golden fruit for the kind children.—Adapted from Lucy Wheelock in Bailey-Lewis, “For the Children’s Hour.”