< Danish Fairy and Folk Tales

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Danish Fairy and Folk Tales
by Jens Christian Bay, Svend Hersleb Grundtvig and others, translated byJens Christian Bay
What the Christmas Star Sees

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WHAT THE CHRISTMAS STAR SEES

UNDER THE ANGEL'S WINGS

N the dim twilight a young mother sits by the window. Her little son, her only one, is on her lap. It is so charming to sit quietly in a corner near the window, while darkness gently settles about you, and watch the stars rise from the deep shadows in the sky, glittering forth, one by one.

She clasps her arms fondly around her little boy, and says, softly: 'Look, how all the small stars smile and twinkle at us. They have something to tell.'

'What is it, mama?' asks her little boy. His mother continues:

''We are but very small spots,' say the stars to you and to me, 'of all the splendor within the sky. But soon Christmas comes with the child Jesus, and to him it all belongs. He sends an angel through the darkness, with gifts for all his children below. The angel keeps them under his wings. He will give you all that you wish for, that you may know how well Jesus loves you.''

'Does he love you, too, mama?' asks the little boy. She nods.

'And papa?'

'Yes.' she says, drawing a long breath, 'he loves him so well that neither papa nor I really know how well.'

'That was my testimonial!' exclaims a merry voice behind them—papa's voice. They had not seen him enter the room. 'Well, what do you wish, little one? Wish, wish, while it is time!'

The little boy meditates and seems irresolute. On a sudden he looks smilingly into their faces, and says: 'First, I must find my place under the angel's wings.'

'He knows how to wish for plenty, the little fellow!' exclaims his father. 'He wants all at once.'

'Look!' ejaculates the boy, pointing to the sky. A light is kindled there. Slowly, in a wide, gleaming circle, it shoots across the firmament, and disappears within it.

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'A shooting-star! Your wish will be fulfilled, my own boy,' says his mother, clasping the child more tightly in her arms, while he claps his hands delightedly.

'Have it; have it all!' merrily resumes his father. 'But you must be sure and return home. Do not let the angel fly away with you! I would not lose you for all the wealth of heaven, my little boy.'

'Oh, do not say it in such a manner,' exclaims his wife, pressing her hand against her heart in sudden alarm; 'you make me so afraid.'

'My pious little wife!' answers he; 'how can these foolish shooting-stars frighten you? Now I leave you for my work, and in the mean time you may cherish your hopes about divine things. A mother does this all the better when she is alone.'

With moistened eyes she turns towards him, whispering: 'I wish both of us could do it.'

'I am more easily contented than both of you,' he returns, smiling upon her; 'I shall not ask for heaven, but am contented with the earth, where I have you and the boy.'

Kissing his two dear ones, he leaves them. A young man, with all the joy in life yet before him, he is so wise and self-reliant, so strong and good, too.

But mother sits alone with her little son. One shooting-star falls after another, and for every one of them she takes him more firmly in her arms.

Another evening: Christmas night.

The young mother again sits alone with her little boy, her only one, on her lap. It is sad to sit with such a treasure in your arms, while the darkness settles about you it is sad to watch the glowing cheeks and the eyes which sparkle, not from a yearning or glee, but because the violent coughing takes his breath away and shakes the little body. Mother folds her quivering hands around the glowing forehead. Father is sitting immovable, watching his child.

Healthy and fresh, with rosy cheeks, did he fall asleep the previous evening; hot and feverish did he awake in the morning. The Christmas joy vanished, giving room for the shadows of anxiety which fell upon the home. The physician came and went during the day; now he is expected back.

Suddenly the coughing stops, a gleam of relief spreading upon the child's countenance. He recovers his breath and turns to his mother, whispering:

'Mama! Will I find my place under the angel's wings to-night?' This was his thought and longing for many days and weeks. But mother can only nod; she dares not venture to answer the question.

'Mama, kiss me! Papa, come here!'

His mother bends over him, and his father kisses the little face. There is a happy smile, a faint struggle, and a deep silence at last.

In the room, where stood a Christmas-tree which will not be lighted, sits the young mother, alone. The door is opened, and her husband walks softly in. Bending over her, he looks into her tearless eyes.

'The shooting-star,' he says, at length, 'spoke the truth. Your boy and mine is now under the angel's wings. We both believe it, you and I.'

She feels that she is alone no more.

A feeble ray from the Christmas star reaches the sorrow as well as the joy. Its blessed light comes from the little figure under the angel's wings.

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

We are in the large city. The clocks show that it is late in the afternoon. The streets are crowded with people who all know that the following night is Christmas Eve, and are anxious not to be late on any account.

Straight through the crowds a little boy and girl, brother and sister, are rushing along, closely followed by a big dog and a small puppy. The latter is really rolling along rather than trudging with the rest of the company. When there seems to be danger ahead, the big dog snatches her offspring from the ground, carrying the little ball-like creature in her mouth, until the number of rapidly moving feet diminishes, and the passage becomes less dangerous. This little company of four is as busy as if some one's life depended upon its movements, and such is, indeed, the case.

The big dog's name is Ada, and she is doomed to be hanged. The puppy has no name; but he will be drowned.

Ada had developed of late two rather disagreeable habits. One of these is that she is always abundantly well supplied with puppies. Although she does not mean to give any one trouble with her large family, the latter surely gives her considerable cause for worry. Mama says that the puppies are dirty little fellows, and papa declares that there is no end of bother on their account. At length he becomes impatient, and in his extreme annoyance declares that in the afternoon Ada must be hanged, and the puppy drowned. No pleading or coaxing helped this time, as had been the case before; papa would not listen; he was too seriously annoyed.

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