drop their heads devoutly.)

STEEN. Who is she, Holger?

HOLGER. I don't know.

STEEN. (Drawing back from the window and crossing the room to the fire) Oh, Holger, I'm afraid!

HOLGER. No, no! Look, she has turned away,—she's deeper in the shadow,—why, she's gone! (Following STEEN with all his bright courage bubbling high again, and speaks in a bantering tone) Just some old granny going down to town, and thou afraid!

STEEN. (Recovering also) And thou afraid!

HOLGER. I was not!

STEEN. (Derisively) Oh-h-h-h!

HOLGER. Well, I was just a little bit afraid—lest she might frighten thee. (Steps are heard outside the house. Both boys start and look frightened again) Hush,—steps—coming here!

STEEN. (Backing from the door) The old woman!

HOLGER. (Crosses the room, looks cautiously out of the window, then cries joyously) No,—Uncle Bertel!

BERTEL. (Off stage) Hullo, there,—open, Holger!

(STEEN and HOLGER make a dash for the door, fling it open and BERTEL enters. He is a jolly robust peasant uncle of early middle life, clad in rough gray jerkin and hose, with a dark gray cloak wrapped about him. He so radiates cheer that the room seems warmer for his presence in it. Nothing to be afraid of about him, the children adore him.)

STEEN. (Clinging to him, happily) Oh, Uncle, Uncle, Uncle Bertel!

HOLGER. (Seizing BERTEL on his other side) Uncle Bertel, welcome!

BERTEL. (Tousling their hair and shaking himself loose in pretended dismay) Help, help!—Robbers!—I'm beset!—Gently, youngsters!—(He goes over to the fire and stands warming himself) Brrrrr! It's cold in the forest to-night!—Well, (He faces them genially) why am I come?—Tell me that!

STEEN. (Exultantly) To take us to the Christmas Service?

HOLGER. Uncle! How didst thou know we were not going?

BERTEL. I met a fox—who said—

HOLGER. Oh-h!—Thou hast seen mother and father!

BERTEL. (Draws the stool nearer the fire and sits, the children promptly drop on the floor beside him) By our Lady, yes!—and walking so fast they had only time to throw me a word from the sides of their mouths. "Go up," cried Mother,—"I wist my boys are deep in tears!"—and I, not wishing to see you drown in so much water—

HOLGER. (Patting his arm) Dear Uncle Bertel!

STEEN. (Rising on his knees) Come, let's go quick!

BERTEL. Patience, patience, young colt, plenty of time, mother said something else.

STEEN. What?

BERTEL. (His eye on the shelf above the fire) That I should find some warm porridge for my pains.

HOLGER. (Springing to his feet) Why, of course, there is porridge! (He goes to the shelf) Nice and warm it is! All ready for supper. (He hands the first bowl to BERTEL, STEEN capers nimbly across the intervening space and seats himself on the side of the hearth, facing BERTEL, his back to the audience)

STEEN. Supper! How could we forget supper?—Give me a big bowlful, Holger.

HOLGER. (Handing STEEN his porridge) There isn't a big bowlful here.

STEEN. (Taking the bowl and hugging it) Nice kind good supper, umh! (Begins to eat eagerly)

HOLGER. (Suddenly looking toward the door) Listen!

BERTEL. To what?

HOLGER. (Awed, hesitant) Someone—sobbing—at the door! (He goes to it, the others watching him startled, he opens the door, finds nothing, closes it and comes back) Nothing there!

BERTEL. The wind!—Thy old tricks, Holger,—always dreaming some strange thing.

HOLGER. (Recalled by BERTEL'S words to something else) Didst thou pass an old woman on the road—near here?

BERTEL. Not a soul nearer than the town gate. (HOLGER stands thinking, absorbed) Come, boy, eat,—eat! See how Steen eats!

HOLGER. (Breaks through his abstraction and reverts to his bright self) Oh, Uncle Bertel,—I'm too glad to eat!

BERTEL. (More seriously) Thou art right, lad,—fasting were better than feasting this day in Tralsund!—they say,—do you know what they say in the town?

HOLGER. What?

BERTEL. They say—that to-night in the great church—when the offerings are laid upon the altar for the Christ child,—something will happen!

(STEEN has finished his porridge, puts the bowl on the shelf near him, seizes his cloak and cap from the peg near the hearth and stands eager to be gone.)

HOLGER. What?

BERTEL. Who can say? All day the folk have been pouring into the town as never before. The market place is crowded, every inn is full. No church but the cathedral could hold such a multitude. Never have I seen such excitement, such fervor!

HOLGER. There will be many gifts!

BERTEL. —the rich are bringing their treasure, gold and jewels, king's ransoms, aye and the King comes. (BERTEL finishes his porridge and hands the bowl to STEEN)

HOLGER. The King?

BERTEL. The King Himself!

STEEN. Oh, and shall we see Him, Uncle, and the fine gifts and everything?

BERTEL. Why not?—Even the poorest may go up and give—what hast thou to offer?

STEEN. (Abashed) I?—Nothing! (Puts his porridge bowl and BERTEL'S on the shelf then goes restlessly to the door)

HOLGER. (Breaking in with eagerness) Oh, I have, see, Uncle? (Feels in his pocket and brings out two pennies) See!—Last week I was gathering sticks in the forest and a fine gentleman rode past and asked the way of me. I showed him the path and he gave me these! (Holds up the pennies)

BERTEL. (Rising and going to HOLGER who is in the middle of the room) Faith, real money in the family. (Stoops and looks at the pennies as though they were a rare sight)

STEEN. Oh, I thought we were going to buy cakes with those, Holger.

HOLGER. But it's better to give it to the Christ Child. You see He is a little child, smaller than even you,—and I think He would like a little gift,—a little bright gift that would buy cakes for Him. (HOLGER goes toward the window and stands looking dreamily out at the lights of the church)

BERTEL. Aye, to-night we must think of Him,—there in His Holy Church.

HOLGER. It is a holy place, the church!—I feel it every time I go,—it's like God's forest,—the pillars like old oaks and the great windows all colors like sunsets through the trees.

BERTEL. 'Tis like the forest.

HOLGER. And when the organ plays that's like a storm gathering in the mountains.

BERTEL. A storm?—Aye!—"The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm and the clouds are the dust of His feet!"—Why should He not do a wonder as of old? Perhaps the great miracle will come again!

HOLGER. Oh, which, Uncle?—There