"Be quiet, Bandershanks, and sit back down."
"Mama, how come the baby's in the hay?"
"Hon, the baby is like the Little Lord Jesus."
I stood up again to look.
"He's got red hair! Mama, that's Miss Ophelia's baby! He—"
We heard a big commotion outside, and everybody turned toward the back door. Mister Goode opened the door. But instead of going outside, he beckoned for whoever was at the doorsteps to come into the church.
Three curious-looking men filed in, one close behind the other. They marched, clomp, clomp, straight up on the stage.
"Look, Nannie," Papa whispered, "now we know why Lida Belle bought that calico!"
"I declare to my soul, Jodie. I can't believe it!"
The men had on the most peculiar clothes I'd ever seen: long, flowing robes that dragged to the floor; high, bespangled headgear that reached halfway to the ceiling. They looked a good bit like the kings in my storybook. That's what they were! Real live kings! But where did they come from?