St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls | Page 3

wailed a little because it was "hard and dry," and when Gottlieb
moistened it with a few drops of water, she took it too much, he felt, as
a mere common meal, a thing of course, and her natural right.
He had expected that, in some way, the hungry hours it had cost him
would have been kneaded into it, and made it a kind of heavenly manna
for her.

To him it had meant hunger, and heroism, and sleepless hours of
endurance. It seemed strange that to Lenichen it should seem nothing
more than a hard, dry, common crust.
But to the mother it was much more.
She understood all; and, because she understood so much, she said
little.
She only smiled, and said he looked more than ever like his father; and
as he sat musing rather sadly while she was dressing, and Lenichen had
fallen asleep again, she pointed to the little peaceful sleeping face, the
flaxen hair curling over the dimpled arm, and she said:
"That is thy thanks--just that the little one is happy. The dear Heavenly
Father cares more, I think, for such thanks than for any other; just to
see the flowers grow, just to hear the birds sing to their nestlings, just to
see His creatures good and happy, because of His gifts. Those are about
the best thanks for Him and for us."
But Gottlieb looked up inquiringly.
"Yet He likes us to say 'Thank you,' too? Did you not say all the
Church services, all the beautiful cathedral itself, is just the people's
'Thank you' to God? Are we not going to church just to say 'Thank you,'
to-day?"
"Yes, darling," she said. "But the 'thank you' we mean to say is worth
little unless it is just the blossom and fragrance of the love and content
always in the heart. God cares infinitely for our loving Him, and loves
us to thank Him if we do. He does not care at all for the thanks without
the love, or without the content."
And as she spoke these words, Mother Magdalis was preaching a little
sermon to herself also, which made her eyes moisten and shine.
So she took courage, and contrived to persuade the children and herself
that the bread-and-water breakfast that Christmas Eve morning had

something quite festive about it.
And when they had finished with a grace which Gottlieb sang, and
Lenichen lisped after him, she told him to take the little sister on his
knee and sing through his songs and hymns, while she arrayed herself
in the few remnants of holiday dress left her.
And as she cleaned and arranged the tiny room, her heart was lighter
than it had been for a long time.
"I ought to be happy," she said to herself, "with music enough in my
little nest to fill a church."
When Gottlieb had finished his songs, and was beginning them over
again, there was a knock at the door, and the face of old Hans, the
dwarf, appeared at the door, as he half opened it.
"A good Christmas to thee and thy babes, Mother Magdalis! Thy son is
born indeed with a golden spoon in his mouth," croaked old Hans in his
hoarse, guttural voice.
The words grated on Magdalis. Crooked Hans' jokes were apt to be as
crooked as his temper and his poor limbs, and to give much
dissatisfaction, hitting on just the sore points no one wanted to be
touched.
She felt tempted to answer sharply, but the sweet Christmas music had
got into her heart, and she only said, with tears starting to her eyes:
"If he was, neighbor, all the gold was lost and buried long ago."
"Not a bit of it!" rejoined Hans. "Didn't I hear the gold ring this very
instant? The lad has gold in his mouth, I say! Give him to me, and you
shall see it before night."
She looked up reproachfully, the tears fairly falling at what she thought
such a cruel mockery from Hans, who knew her poverty, and had never
had from her or hers the rough words he was too used to from every

one.
"The golden days are over for me," was all she said.
"Nay! They have yet to begin," he replied. "Your Berthold left more
debtors than you know, Frau Magdalis. And old Hans is one of them.
And Hans never forgets a debt, black or white. Let the lad come with
me, I say. I know the choir-master at the cathedral. And I know he
wants a fine high treble just such as thy Gottlieb's, and will give
anything for it. For if he does not find one, the Cistercians at the new
convent will draw away all the people, and we shall have