"Now, tell us, mother, again—as ever this night—the story of our brother's birth."
"Yes, dear mother, and not forgetting the star; for us no story is like this, not even the story of young King David, although in truth, that is a goodly tale."
"Then sit, children; lend me your aid with the gifts; and now, as dark comes on, while yet your father and brother are not returned from their work, I will repeat again the oft-told story. I see not how I can forget aught, for it seems ever before me.
"You must know it was between the wet time and the dry when your father and I went up to Judea to be enrolled. Bethlehem was our city. There were a great many journeying in our company to the House of Bread. I was not strong in those days; and so your father obtained an ass for me to ride, while he walked by my side. We traveled slowly, and the early night had already set in when we passed where Rachel rests, and reached the village. In front of the inn at which your father intended stopping, he left my side a moment, while he went to arrange for our stay; but he straightway returned, saying there was no room for us. So we were compelled to go farther; and it was late,—how late I know not,—before we found rest; for at every inn where your father knocked the answer was the same: 'No room!' 'No room!' Your father bore up bravely, though he had the harder part; while, in my childishness, I was fain to kneel in the chalk-dust of the road, and seek what rest I could. But he upheld me, until, at last, one inn-keeper, seeing what a child I was in truth took pity on me and said:
"I am able to do no more for you than for my poor cattle; but I can give you shelter with them in the cavern stable and a bed if only straw."
"And, children, I was very thankful for this. I had been told before that to me a Prince should be born; that, girl as I was, as mother, should clasp in my arms a Savior-child. I believed the words of the angel,—for was I not of the house of David?—and ever treasured them in my heart. Now, how strange should it be that not in my peaceful Nazareth, not in this, our own home, but: there, and that weary night of all nights, beside me on the straw should be laid my infant son!
"I knew immediately what to call him, for, as I have often told you, the angel had named him 'Jesus.' 'Even so,' the angel had said; 'for he shall save his people from their sins.' I have wondered much what that means for your brother."
"Watch well your work, children! Burn not the cakes. Fold with care the mantles and the coats. This garment we will lay aside for patches. It repays not labor to put new to old; and, James, test well the skins before you fill them with the wine. We know not to whom your brother bears the gifts of his handiwork to-night, but he knows who needs them most, and naught must be lost or wasted.
"Where was I in the story, children?"
"The baby on the hay, sweet mother."
"Ah, yes, I mind me now. I took him in my arms. To me no child had ever looked the same. But now, a marvel! The rock stable, which before had seemed dark indeed, lighted only by our dim lamps, suddenly shone full of light. I raised my eyes, and there, before and above me, seemingly through a rent in the roof, I beheld a most large and luminous star. Verily, I had not seen the opening in the roof when I had lain me down, but now I could do naught else but look from my baby's face beside me, along the floods of light to the star before.
"And now, without, rose a cry: 'We are come to behold the King. We are guided.' And, entering the stable, clad in their coats of sheepskin, with their slings and crooks yet in their hands, came shepherds, I cannot now recall the number."
"I had wrapped my babe in his clothes, and had lain him in his manger. And now it was so that as soon as their eyes fell upon his face, they sank to their knees and worshiped him."
"'Heard you not,' spake a white-bearded shepherd to me; 'heard you not, young Mother Mary, the angels' song?'"
"'Meseems I have long heard it, and can hear naught else, good father,' I answered."
"To us it came,' he said, 'in the first watch of this night, and with it music not of earth.'"
"Afterward came the learned ones from the Eastern countries,—I know not now the land. The gifts they brought him made all the place seem like a king's palace; and with all their gifts they gave him worship also."
"And I lay watching it all. And it shall be always so, I thought."
"But these, though wise men, were not of our race, and could not follow the guiding star with our faith. Wherefore, so much stir had they made throughout the kingdom, inquiring publicly concerning this, your brother, that, through the jealousy of Herod, great was the trouble and misery that fell upon the innocent after their going."
"But hearken, children; I hear even now your father and your brother coming from their work. Place quickly the gifts within the basket."
It is a gentle figure that bends among mother and children, and a tender voice that questions:
"Shall I bear forth the gifts?"
"They are ready now, my son. Even this moment thy brother James placed the last within the basket, but canst thou not partake of the evening meal before thou goest with them? Thou art but a lad, to go forth alone after a day of toil."
"Nay, but I must be about the Master's work; and, look, the stars are rising. I should tarry not, for they who toil long rest early."
"For whom is thy service to-night, my son? Last birth-night it was to the sorrowing; before that to the blind, and even yet to the deaf and the lame. And whither tend thy footsteps now?"
"To the tempted ones, mother."
"And thou shalt stay their feet, dear boy, for rememberest not the Immanuels of last year? How the sorrowful found strange, staying joy in their hearts? How the blind said, as thou named their gifts, and placed them in their hands, that it seemed they could straightway behold them? How even the dumb gave forth pleasant sounds like music from their helpless tongues? and how even the lame well-nigh leaped from their lameness, for the light of thy young face? But when thou comest to thy crown and throne thou needest not got forth alone upon thy birth-night, but send out thy gifts with love and plenty."
"I know not, my mother."
"But all will be thine? What said the angel: 'The Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David; and of his kingdom there shall be no end!' It may be soon, we know not, for lo! King David was but a boy, and at his daily toil, when he was called to reign over the house of Jacob. Forget not, thou art born the King."
"Oh, gladden not thy heart, loved mother, with this joy. I seek not to behold the future, but I see not in this world my kingdom, for the rose blossoms I pluck from out the hedge-rows fall; and it is their thorn branch that ever within my hands twines into a crown."
Here ends The Potato Child and Others by Mrs. Charles J.
Woodbury. The frontispiece after a bas-relief by Elizabeth
Ferrea. Published by Paul Elder & Company and done into a
book for them at their Tomoye Press, under the direction of
John Henry Nash, in the city of San Francisco, Nineteen
Hundred & Eleven