BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.
THE HOLY NIGHT
When I was five years old I had such agreat sorrow! I hardly know if Ihave had a greater since.
It was then my grandmother died. Upto that time, she used to sit every day on thecorner sofa in her room, and tell stories.
I remember that grandmother told story afterstory from morning till night, and that we childrensat beside her, quite still, and listened. Itwas a glorious life! No other children hadsuch happy times as we did.
It isn’t much that I recollect about my grandmother.I remember that she had very beautifulsnow-white hair, and stooped when shewalked, and that she always sat and knitted astocking.
And I even remember that when she had finisheda story, she used to lay her hand on myhead and say: “All this is as true, as true asthat I see you and you see me.”
I also remember that she could sing songs,but this she did not do every day. One ofthe songs was about a knight and a sea-troll,and had this refrain: “It blows cold, coldweather at sea.”
Then I remember a little prayer she taughtme, and a verse of a hymn.
Of all the stories she told me, I have but adim and imperfect recollection. Only one ofthem do I remember so well that I should beable to repeat it. It is a little story aboutJesus’ birth.
Well, this is nearly all tha