A Little Book of Profitable Tales | Page 7

by the reindeer, and thousands upon
thousands of beautiful gifts--all of his own making--has he borne to the
children of every land; for he loves them all alike, and they all alike
love him, I trow. So truly do they love him that they call him Santa
Claus, and I am sure that he must be a saint; for he has lived these
many hundred years, and we, who know that he was born of Faith and
Love, believe that he will live forever.
1886.

+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE+

THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
I
"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" said the wind, and it tore through the
streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out,
driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and
shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.

"How cold your breath is to-night!" said Barbara, with a shiver, as she
drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body.
"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" answered the wind; "but why are you
out in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire."
"I have no home," said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, and
something like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blue
eyes.
But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street to
throw a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling
along with a huge basket of good things on each arm.
"Why are you not at the cathedral?" asked a snowflake, as it alighted on
Barbara's shoulder. "I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights there
as I floated down from the sky a moment ago."
"What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara.
"Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed the snowflake. "I supposed
everybody knew that the prince was coming to-morrow."
"Surely enough; this is Christmas eve," said Barbara, "and the prince
will come tomorrow."
Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, how
beautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the
little children; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell
Barbara of the prince and his coming,--none but the little snowflake.
"I should like to see the prince," said Barbara, "for I have heard he was
very beautiful and good."
"That he is," said the snowflake. "I have never seen him, but I heard the
pines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forest
to-night."
"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" cried the wind, returning boisterously to where
Barbara stood. "I've been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake!
So come with me."
And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake and
hurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy air of
the winter night.
Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things
in the shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vast
array of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling
of admiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature's heart.

"Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be," she said to herself,
"yet I may feast my eyes upon them."
"Go away from here!" said a harsh voice. "How can the rich people see
all my fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, you
miserable little beggar!"
It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear that
sent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter.
Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much
mirth and festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the
windows Barbara could see a beautiful Christmas tree in the centre of a
spacious room,--a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green
lights, and heavy with toys and stars and glass balls, and other beautiful
things that children love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and
the children were smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed
content and happy. Barbara heard them singing, and their song was
about the prince who was to come on the morrow.
"This must be the house where the prince will stop," thought Barbara.
"How I would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would
he care for me, a 'miserable little beggar'?"
So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet
thinking of the prince.
"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.
"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking
there, and I