Now on that day that marked the end of the twelve months since the star had shone the gipsies said among themselves: “Dost thou think that the star will shine again to-night? If it were true, what the runner said, that when it shone twelve months ago it marked the place where the Child lay it may even mark His hiding-place this night. Then Herod would know where to find Him, and send his soldiers again to slay Him. That would be a cruel thing to happen!”
The air was chill with the winter frost, even there in the southland, close to the Ægean; and the gipsies built high their fire and hung their kettle full of millet, fish, and bitter herbs for their supper. The king lay on his couch of tiger-skins and on his arms were amulets of heavy gold, while rings of gold were on his fingers and in his ears. His tunic was of heavy silk covered with a leopard cloak, and on his feet were shoes of goat-skin trimmed with fur. Now, as they feasted around the fire a voice came to them through the darkness, calling. It was a man’s voice, climbing the mountains from the south.
“Ohe! Ohe!” he shouted. And then nearer, “O—he!”
The gipsies were still disputing among themselves whence the voice came when there walked into the circle about the fire a tall, shaggy man, grizzled with age, and a sweet-faced young mother carrying a child.
“We are outcasts,” said the man, hoarsely. “Ye must know that whosoever succors us will bring Herod’s vengeance like a sword about his head. For a year we have wandered homeless and cursed over the world. Only the wild creatures have not feared to share their food and give us shelter in their lairs. But to-night we can go no farther; and we beg the warmth of your fire and food enough to stay us until the morrow.”
The king looked at them long before he made reply. He saw the weariness in their eyes and the famine in their cheeks; he saw, as well, the holy light that hung about the child, and he said at last to his men:
“It is the Child of Bethlehem, the one they call the ‘Prince of Peace.’ As yon man says, who shelters them shelters the wrath of Herod as well. Shall we let them tarry?”
One of their number sprang to his feet, crying: “It is a sin to turn strangers from the fire, a greater sin if they be poor and friendless. And what is a king’s wrath to us? I say bid them welcome. What say the rest?”
And with one accord the gipsies shouted, “Yea, let them tarry!”
They brought fresh skins and threw them down beside the fire for the man and woman to rest on. They brought them food and wine, and goat’s milk for the Child; and when they had seen that all was made comfortable for them they gathered round the Child—these black gipsy men—to touch His small white hands and feel His golden hair. They brought Him a chain of gold to play with and another for His neck and tiny arm.