St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls | Page 5

shoulder. He felt it too babyish to be altogether honorable to the protector of Lenichen and incipient bread-winner of the family. And, therefore, he was relieved when he found himself once more safely on the ground.
But when Ursula set before him a huge plate of bread and meat, his manly composure all but gave way. It was more of an approach to a feast than any meal he had ever participated in, and he was nearly choked with repressed tears of gratitude.
It was so evident now that Hans was altogether an orthodox and accredited raven!
At first, as the child sat mute and wondering before the repast, with a beautiful look of joy and prayer in his blue eyes, Ursula thought he was saying his grace, and respected his devotion. But as the moments passed on, and still he did not attempt to eat, she became impatient.
"There is a time for everything," she murmured, at length. "That will do for thy grace! Now quick to the food! Thou canst finish the grace, if thou wilt, in music, in the church by and by."
But then the child took courage, and said:
"The ravens--that is, the good God--surely do not mean all this for me. Dear, gracious lady, let me run with the plate to the mother and Lenichen; and I will be back again in two minutes, and sing all day, if the master likes."
[Illustration: THE CHOIR-MASTER IS DELIGHTED WITH HIS NEW PUPIL.]
Ursula was much moved at the child's filial love, and also at his politeness.
"The little one has discrimination," she said to herself. "One can see he is of a good stock. He recognizes that I am no peasant, but the daughter of a good burgher house."
And, in spite of the remonstrances of her master, she insisted on giving the lad his way.
"I will accompany him, myself," said she.
And, without further delay or parley, she walked off, under the very eyes of the master, with the boy, and also with a considerable portion of his own dinner, in addition to the plate she had already set before Gottlieb.
* * * * *
A very joyful and miraculous intervention it seemed to Mother Magdalis when Gottlieb re-entered the hermit's cell, under the stately convoy of the choir-master's housekeeper, and with food enough to feed the frugal little household for a week.
The two women greeted each other ceremoniously and courteously, as became two German housewives of good burgher stock.
"The little lad has manners worthy of a burgomaster," said Ursula. "We shall see him with the gold chain and the fur robes yet,--his mother a proud woman."
With which somewhat worldly benediction, she left the little family to themselves, conjuring Gottlieb to return in less than an hour, for the master was not always as manageable as this morning.
And when they were alone, Gottlieb was not ashamed to hide his tears on his mother's heart.
"See, darling mother!" he said, "the dear Savior did send the raven! Perhaps, one day, He will make us good enough for Him to send the angels."
Then the simple family all knelt down and thanked God from their hearts, and Gottlieb added one especial bit of his own of praise and prayer for his kind Hans, of whom, on account of his grim face and rough voice, he had stood in some dread.
"Forgive me, dear Lord Jesus," he said, "that I did not know how good he was!"
And when they had eaten their hasty Christmas feast, and the mother was smoothing his hair and making the best of his poor garments, Gottlieb said, looking up gravely in her face:
"Who knows, mother, if Hans is only a raven now, that the good God may not make him, his very self, the angel?"
"Perhaps God is making Hans into the angel even now," replied the mother.
And she remembered for a long time the angelic look of love and devotion in the child's eyes.
For she knew very well the cathedral choir was no angelic host.
She knew she was not welcoming her boy that morning to a haven, but launching him on a voyage of many perils. But she knew, also, that it is only by such perils, and through such voyages, that men, that saints, are made.
(To be continued.)

HOW THE PONY WAS TAKEN.
BY C. W.
One morning, last August, Jimmie Wood was sitting on the gate-post making a willow whistle, when a remarkable wagon, drawn by a lean, gray horse, came up over the hill. The wagon looked like a big black box with a window in it. In front was a man driving, and this man seemed rather peculiar too. He had a long, pointed mustache and very curly hair. He was not a cigar and candy peddler, nor a patent medicine man, nor a machine agent, for Jim could recognize any of these in a minute.