The Christmas Child | Page 8

as I am, I'll fight thy
battles for thee, poor lamb!"
Very gently he lifted up the tender little creature, and laid it in Joan's
outstretched arms, which tingled with delight, mingled with fear lest
she should loose her hold of it. A flush of colour had come to her pale
face, and all the sadness had fled from it, and her eyes were shining
with joy. Nathan lighted her steps along the stony causeway, which she
trod with a thrill of anxious care, lest she might slip and fall with her
precious burden. But the house was reached in safety, and the sleeping
child had uttered no cry.
"Lay it warm in thy own bed," said Nathan, "and wrap the blankets
about it, and I'll run and fetch Nurse Williams, that knows how to
manage little babes; and keep it still, Joan, while I'm away, whatever
you do. Don't let thy aunt hear it till I come back."
How long Nathan was away Joan could not tell. She knew nothing of
time as she knelt by the bedside watching the child sleeping so softly
and soundly, its tiny face growing rosy with warmth. But at last her
long day-dream was broken by the sound of her own name, uttered in
so loud and terrible a voice that she felt as if she could not stir hand or
foot. It was Aunt Priscilla's voice, not far away, nay, at the very foot of
the steep and narrow staircase leading up to her room. Joan's heart
seemed to stand still with terror.
"Joan, bring that child down at once!" were the words that rang in her
ears; "I'll not have it one moment under my roof."

Joan did not answer or move, except to throw her little arms over the
sleeping baby.
"No, no!" she heard old Nathan say; "I've lived here in this place all my
life, with thy grandfather and father and thee, and I've been true and
faithful in my service, and I've grieved over the poor unhappy mother
of the little babe as if she'd been my own child. And now, if the baby
goes away from out of the house I'll go with it. I'll stay no longer, not
another hour. Thou'rt a hard woman, Priscilla Parry, and God 'll show
Himself hard to thee. With the unmerciful He'll show Himself
unmerciful, and with the froward He'll show Himself froward. And oh!
it's a fearful thing to think of an unmerciful and hard God!"
Joan listened in terror to Nathan's strange words, but she did not hear
her aunt's voice making any answer. There was utter silence for a long
minute or two, followed by the sound of slow and dragging footsteps,
which grew fainter and fainter till she could hear them no more. Then
old Nathan came upstairs, and Nurse Williams, whom he had been to
fetch.
CHAPTER IV
LOST AND FOUND
It was a very happy Christmas Day for Joan, though she never left her
little bedroom. Her delight was in watching the wonderful Christmas
child all day, and in helping to nurse him. Never had she seen anything
so perfectly lovely as his tiny hands and feet, and the little head that
nestled down so peacefully on her arm. A good part of the day she was
left alone with the baby, for Nurse Williams was busy about the house,
where there was a good deal of stir and excitement. The neighbours
were coming in to inquire about the rumours that had reached them,
and Nathan was away, and Miss Priscilla had shut herself up in her
room, taking no notice whatever of any appeals to her to open the door
or to speak.
Happy as it was to Joan, to old Nathan it was the saddest Christmas
Day of his life. He was seeking some trace or tidings of the baby's

mother; and his weary feet, made heavy by his heavy heart, trod many a
mile that short wintry day in quest of her. It could be no one else but
Rhoda who had laid the child in the manger. She had never been heard
of since Aunt Priscilla had answered her first and only letter, asking
forgiveness, by a bitter, stern, and terrible command that she must
never show her face again at home, or dare to ask for any help,
whatever misery befell her.
But Nathan's search was all in vain. No one had seen her down in the
village, or in the scattered dwellings far and wide upon the mountains.
But more than one had hinted to him that there were places, not far
away, where the cliffs overhung the sea; and as he returned sorrowfully
homewards he could hear the sad moaning and sobbing of the sea
following him through