In a flash they were out of their beds, and, hurriedly dressing, they scampered toward the echoing bell.
And what do you suppose they saw?
A smiling old rat, who, with the aid of his long tail, was ringing the bell! While before him on the ground was spread a wonderful collection of Christmas gifts, and above all was the sign:
Peace on Earth
And Good Will Toward Men
A Merry Christmas to All!
From Mr. Long-tail.
[5] Reprinted by permission of the author and the “Ladies’ Home Journal.”
THE STORY OF THE FIELD OF ANGELS[6]
Florence Morse Kingsley
In the deep valley below Bethlehem an undulating meadow stretches east and west, its grass starred thick with blossoms in the days after the autumn rains. The villagers call it the Field of Angels, though to some it is known as the Place of the Star. In the days of the Cæsars the turrets of Migdol Edar, the shepherds’ watch tower, still looked down upon the place, though shepherds had long ceased to watch their flocks there by night.
Six miles to the north, behind the scarred shoulders of the ravaged hills, lay shamed and desolate Jerusalem. There was no longer a temple therein whither the tribes of Israel could go up to praise and magnify the name of Jehovah. Of all that great and glorious Zion there remained only a place for wailing by a ruined wall.
But flowers bloomed again in the red tracks of the Roman armies, and again there were little children to whom the horrors of that time of death were only as a tale that is told between waking and sleeping. When the sun shines in unclouded heavens, and myriads of flowers wave in the sweet wind, and the lark floods his acres of sky with down-dropping melody, what young thing will lament ruined temples or yet vanished cities, be they never so glorious? And so, the children were plucking the first flowers in the Field of Angels with shouts and laughter.