Who, then, would clean the church, who trim the crèche, who tell me what to get for it? The answers came as rapidly as the questions. Elmire had always had charge of the crèche; she would return with me at once to see what was lacking.
Together we made our way back and inventoried (1) the crèche itself; (2) a white lace-bordered square, (3) the little Jesus, and (4) some tinsel, or angel’s hair.
“There is lacking,” Elmire thought quickly, “a Saint Joseph, a Blessed Virgin, six tapers, cotton wool, and perhaps a star.”
Twice on my homeward journey I was stopped by Elmire’s younger brother, running after me with breathless messages: “Elmire says, would you please get a shepherd,” and, “Elmire asks for three little sheep.”
Where one was to get these was as much a mystery as the priest for the mass. But I promised that all should be done.
The figures for the crèche were actually found in Amiens. To them was added a new little Jesus in a cradle; and the whole was brought by hand to Elmire. The delight of the entire family in unwrapping the various bundles was equalled only by my own in watching them. Afterwards, in the stable, the crèche was trimmed. Artificial flowers, blue and pink and tinsel, bloomed under Elmire’s deft fingers; the pillars were fluted with coloured paper, the roof plaited with holly leaves. A lamp was necessary in the dark place, and its light fell on the eager faces of the family, grouped about that fairy hut. “In a stable,” I thought as I looked at them, “in a stable, the Christ is born again.”
—Si on voit pas l’Noël, on verra peut-être un Zeppelin.
[Well, if we don’t see Santa Claus, we may see a Zeppelin, anyhow!]