And as she spoke these words, Mother Magdalis was preaching a little sermon to herself also, which made her eyes moisten and shine.
So she took courage, and contrived to persuade the children and herself that the bread-and-water breakfast that Christmas-Eve morning had something quite festive about it.
And when they had finished with a grace which Gottlieb sang, and Lenichen lisped after him, she told him to take the little sister on his knee and sing through his songs and hymns, while she arrayed herself in the few remnants of holiday dress left her.
And as she cleaned and arranged the tiny room, her heart was lighter than it had been for a long time.
"I ought to be happy," she said to herself, "with music enough in my little nest to fill a church."
When Gottlieb had finished his songs, and was beginning them over again, there was a knock at the door, and the face of old Hans the dwarf appeared at the door, as he half opened it.
"A good Christmas to thee and thy babes, Mother Magdalis! Thy son is born indeed with a golden spoon in his mouth," croaked old Hans in his hoarse, guttural voice.
The words grated on Magdalis. Crooked Hans's jokes were apt to be as crooked as his temper and his poor limbs, and to give much dissatisfaction, hitting on just the sore points no one wanted to be touched.
She felt tempted to answer sharply, but the sweet Christmas music had got into her heart, and she only said, with tears starting to her eyes,—
"If he was, neighbour, all the gold was lost and buried long ago."