HOLGER. But it's better to give it to the Christ Child. You see He is a little child, smaller than even you,—and I think He would like a little gift,—a little bright gift that would buy cakes for Him. (HOLGER goes toward the window and stands looking dreamily out at the lights of the church)
BERTEL. Aye, to-night we must think of Him,—there in His Holy Church.
HOLGER. It is a holy place, the church!—I feel it every time I go,—it's like God's forest,—the pillars like old oaks and the great windows all colors like sunsets through the trees.
BERTEL. 'Tis like the forest.
HOLGER. And when the organ plays that's like a storm gathering in the mountains.
BERTEL. A storm?—Aye!—"The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm and the clouds are the dust of His feet!"—Why should He not do a wonder as of old? Perhaps the great miracle will come again!
HOLGER. Oh, which, Uncle?—There are so many in the Bible!
STEEN. Yes, which?—Would there be a whale now to swallow a priest?
BERTEL. Thou goosey! This was no Bible miracle,—it happened there, there, where we see the lights,—hundreds of years ago. (BERTEL has followed HOLGER to the window and STEEN joins them. As he speaks BERTEL slips his arms affectionately round both children and the three stand looking out. At this moment something stirs in the dim shadows that shroud the corner up above the fire-place. Suddenly out of the dark the OLD WOMAN emerges. A tall figure, if she were not so bent, wrapped in a black cloak. There is nothing grotesque or sinister in her appearance, she might have stood for a statue of old age, impressive in its pathos. As she sits on the stool near the fire she throws back the cloak disclosing the plain straight dress of gray beneath. The light of the fire reveals her crouched, swaying back and forth praying silently, her face still shaded by the heavy hood of her cloak. The others gazing intently out at the church do not see her. BERTEL continues speaking) Surely thou hast heard of the Miracle of the Chimes?
HOLGER. I've heard folks speak of it,—but I never knew just what happened.