 |
 The
legend of the child |
 |
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The
legend of the child |
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'IT
WAS Christmas Eve, and the streets of the city were crowded with
happy fathers, mothers and children. Their faces were bright and
smiling and their arms were loaded down with mysterious bundles.
It was a cold rainy night but the streets were all the brighter
for the streams of light reflected on the wet pavements. The rain
sparkled and flashed as it fell, echoing the gay laughter of children
in its merry splashing.
There was one little child who wandered alone through the streets.
He was hungry and cold and wet, and looked wistfully at the happy
children. He trudged on through the steady pouring of the rain.
At the sound of merry laughter he crept to the window of one house
after another. He knocked and waited. Some children came to the
door. "I am so hungry," said the child.
The children were thoughtless. "Go away, we are having a
party and you are not invited!"
The child turned away. He walked a long time before daring to
stop at another door. He heard voices inside. Softly he knocked,
but they did not hear. He knocked more loudly. Heavy footsteps
approached. A big man opened the door and glared down at the shrinking
child. "What do you want?" he growled.
The child was frightened and ran as fast as he could down the
dark muddy street. "Oh!" he sobbed as he ran, "I
am so hungry and cold." Soon he noticed a tiny flickering
star beckoning to him through the rain.
* * *
IN A little house in the poorer
part of the city a mother and her two children were getting ready
for Christmas. Though the room was bare, a fire was burning on
the hearth. The children were making chains and cutting silver
stars to hang on their Christmas tree.
"Oh mother," said the little girl, "we almost forgot!
We must put our candle in the window. It is so dark and cold and
rainy; perhaps some one will need its light?" So they lighted
their Christmas candle and set it in the window.
"Now tell us our Christmas story, mother," said the
little boy, climbing into her arms as she sat before the fire.
They listened happily as she told them about the baby of Bethlehem.
Just then there was a sound outside. "Mother, I think there
is someone at the door."
"It must be a branch scraping against the window pane,"
answered the mother, and went on with her story.
"Mother, I am sure it is someone at the door," said
the little girl.
"We will see," answered her mother, as she put the little
boy down. "It is too wet and cold outside to keep anyone
waiting."
Throwing open the door they found a little child who had fallen
on the steps and was weak and shivering. The mother picked him
up tenderly in her arms and carried him in to the fire. "Poor
little child, you are all wet and cold," she said and wrapped
him in a warm blanket. The little girl rubbed his cold hands and
feet while her brother ran to get a cup of milk. The child smiled
at them and soon felt warm and happy.
"Oh, mother! Let us trim the Christmas tree," cried
the children, "so we can see our lovely silver stars."
They made their little guest comfortable beside the fire and beside
themselves with the tree.
Suddenly, the room was filled with a mysterious light. They turned
in surprise. A roseate star gleamed above the head of the child.
As they looked his tattered garments changed to shining white.
The walls and ceiling of their bare room seemed to open out until
they felt as if they were in a vast cathedral. The child stretched
out his hands to them and smiled.
"Inasmuch," he said softly, "Inasmuch as ye did
it unto the least …" and as they looked, wondering,
he faded from their sight into a soft radiance. The star dwindled
until they saw it gleaming as the twinkling light of their Christmas
candle in the window.
"Mother," whispered the children, "was it the Christ
Child?"
"It must have been," answered the mother as she kissed
them tenderly." ' -- Author unknown, adapted by Emily Powell
Mayer. Methodist Message Dec 1925, page14.
Earnest Lau, the Associate Editor of Methodist Message, is also the Archivist of The Methodist Church in Singapore.