Manuel had listened silently to the others, but now he pulled the sleeve of Doña Josefa’s gown with coaxing fingers:
“I know why it is the kings bring no gifts to us. See, the street; it is too small; their camels could not pass between the door-steps here. The kings must ride where the streets are broad and smooth and clean, where their long mantles will not be soiled and torn and the camels will not stumble. It is the children in the great streets, the children of the rich, who find presents in their sapaticos on Christmas morning. Is it not so, Doña Josefa?”
And Miguel cried, “Does Manuel speak true—is it only the children of the rich?”
“Ah, chicito mio, it should not be so! When the promise was given to the Nene Jesu there in Bethlehem they said, ‘to every child.’ Yes, every little child.”
“But it is not strange they should forget us here,” Manuel insisted. “The little street is hidden in the shadow of the great ones.”
Then Rosita spoke, clasping her hands together with great eagerness:
“I know; it is because we have no shoes! That is why they never stop. Perhaps Enrique would lend us the shoes he is mending, just for one night. If we had shoes the kings would surely see that there are little children in the street, and leave a gift for each of us. Come, let us ask Enrique!”
“Madre de Dios, it is a blessed thought!” cried all. And like the flock of gray palomas they swept down the street to the farthest end, where Enrique hammered and stitched away all day on the shoes of the rich children.
Manuel stayed behind with Doña Josefa. When the last pair of little brown feet had disappeared inside the sapateria he said, softly:
“If some one could go out and meet the kings to tell them of this little street, and how the niños here have never had a Christmas gift, do you think they might ride hither to-night?”