"oh! i am so cold, so cold!" sobbed little pierre, as he stumbled through the snow which was drifting deep upon the mountain side. "oh, i am so cold! the snow bites my face and blinds me, so that i cannot see the road. where are all the christmas candle-lights? the people of the village must have forgotten. the little jesus will lose his way to-night. i never forgot to set our window at home full of lights on christmas eve. but now it is christmas eve, and there is no home any more. and i am so cold, so cold!"
little pierre sobbed again and stumbled in the snow, which was drifting deeper and deeper upon the mountain side. this was the stormiest christmas eve which had been seen for years, and all the little boys who had good[48] homes were hugging themselves close to the fire, glad that they were not out in the bleak night. every window was full of flickering tapers to light the expected holy child upon his way through the village to the church. but little pierre had strayed so far from the road that he could not see these rows and rows of tiny earth-stars, any more than he could see through the snow the far-off sky-stars which the angels had lighted along the streets of heaven.
pierre was on his way to the village from the orphan boys' home at the abbé's charity school. and that was not like a happy real home, for the little brothers were rough and rude and far from loving one another. he had started at dusk from the school, hoping to be at the village church before curfew. for pierre had a sweet little voice, and he was to earn a few pennies by singing in the choir on christmas morning. but it was growing late. the church would be closed and the curé gone home before pierre could reach it; and then what should he do?[49]
the snow whirled faster and faster, and pierre's legs found it harder and harder to move themselves through the great drifts. they seemed heavy and numb, and he was growing oh, so tired! if he could but lie down to sleep until christmas day! but he knew that he must not do that. for those who choose this kind of soft and tempting bed turn into ice-people, and do not wake up in the morning. so he bent his head and tried to plough on through the drifts.
whish! a soft white thing flapped through the snow and struck pierre in the face, so that he staggered and almost lost his balance. the next moment he had caught the thing as it fell and was holding it tenderly in his numb hands. it was a beautiful dove, white as the snow from which it seemed to come. it had been whirled about by the storm until it had lost strength to fly, and it now lay quite still, with closed eyes. pierre stroked the ruffled feathers gently and blew upon its cold body, trying to bring it back to life.
"poor bird!" he said softly. "you are lost[50] in the snow, like me. i will try to keep you warm, though i am myself a cold little body." he put the bird under his jacket, holding it close to his heart. presently the dove opened its eyes and stirred feebly, giving a faint "coo!"
"i wish i had something for you to eat, poor bird," said pierre, forgetting his own cold and hunger. "if i could but take you into my own house and feed you as i used to feed the birds upon christmas eve! but now i have no home myself, and i can scarcely keep you warm."
pierre shivered and tried to move forward. but the storm seemed to grow even fiercer, and the wind blew so keenly in his face that he could scarcely stand. "i cannot go another step," he said, and down he sank in the snow, which began to cover him with a downy blanket, pretending to be a careful mother. he hugged the bird closer and began to feel afraid. he knew that he was in great danger. "dear dove," he whispered, "i am sorry that i cannot save you. we shall turn into[51] ice-images together. but i will keep you warm as long as i can." then he closed his eyes, for he was very sleepy.
in a little while something made pierre open his eyes. at first he could see only the whirling snow, which seemed to be everywhere. but presently he found that some one was bending over him, with face close to his; some one chubby and rosy and young,—a child like himself, but more beautiful than any child whom pierre had ever seen. he stared hard at the face which seemed to smile at him through the snow, not minding the cold.
"you have my dove inside your coat," said the child, pointing. "i lost her in the storm. give her to me."
pierre held his coat the closer. "she was cold," he answered. "she was dying in the snow. i am trying to keep her warm."
"but she is warm when she is with me, though i have no coat to wrap her in," said the child. and, indeed, he was clad only in a little shirt, with his rosy legs quite bare. yet he looked not cold. a brightness glowed about[52] him, and his breath seemed to warm the air. pierre saw that, though it was still snowing beyond them, there were no whirling flakes between him and the child.
the little stranger held out his hand once more. "please give me the dove," he begged. "i must hasten on my way to the village yonder. the dove strayed from my bosom and was lost. you found her here, far from the road. thank you, little boy. are you often so kind to poor lost birds?"
"why, they are the lord's own birds!" cried little pierre. "how should one not be kind and love them dearly? on the lord's birthday eve, too! it is little that i could do for this one,—i who have saved and fed so many on other christmas eves. alas, i wish i was back in those good old days of the wheat-sheaf and the full pan of milk and the bright warm fire!" pierre's eyes filled with tears.
"what! did you set a sheaf of wheat for the birds on christmas eve?" asked the child, drawing closer and bending kindly eyes upon pierre.[53]
now the boy saw that where the stranger stood the snow had melted all away, so that they were inclosed in a little space like a downy nest, which seemed almost warm to his limbs.
"yes, i set out a wheat-sheaf," said pierre simply. "why not? i love all the little creatures whom our lord himself so dearly loved, and to whom he bade us be kind. on christmas eve especially i always tried to make happy those which he sent in my way,—poor little wanderers as well as our own friends at home."
the child drew yet closer and sat down in the snow beside pierre. his beautiful eyes shone like stars, and his voice was like sweet music. "what," he said, "you are the boy who stood in the doorway with a pan of bread and milk,—part of your own supper,—and called the hungry kitten to feast? you are the same who tossed a bone to the limping dog and made him a bed in the stable? you stroked the noses of the ox and the ass and said gentle things to them, because they were the first friends of the little jesus? you[54] set the sheaf of wheat for the snowbirds, and they lighted upon your hands and shoulders and kissed your lips in gratitude? you are that boy, friend of god's friends. no wonder that my white dove flew to you out of the storm. she knew, she knew!"
the child bent near and kissed pierre on the cheeks, so that they grew rosy, and the warm blood went tingling through his little cold limbs. sitting up, he said: "yes, i am that boy who last year was so happy because he could do these pleasant things. but how do you know, little stranger? how did you see?"
"oh, i know, i saw!" cried the child, gleefully clapping his hands as a child will. "i was there. i passed through the village last christmas eve, and i saw it all. but tell me now, how do you come here, dear boy? why are you not in that happy home this stormy night, once more making the lord's creatures happy?"
pierre told all to the child: how his dear father and mother had died and left him[55] alone in the world; how the home had been sold, and now he lived in the charity school kept by the good abbé; how he had learned of the chance to earn a few pennies by singing on christmas day in the neighboring village church, which lacked a voice among the choir-boys; how he was on his way thither when the storm had hidden the road, and he had grown so cold, so cold!
"then your dove came to me, little stranger," pierre concluded. "she came, and i folded her in my jacket to keep her warm. but, do you know, it must be that she has kept me warm. although i could walk no further, i am not cold at all, nor frightened, and no longer hungry. sit close to me, little stranger. you shall share my jacket, too, and we will all three warm one another."
the child laughed again, a low, soft, silvery laugh, like a happy brook slipping over the pebbles. "i am not cold," he said. "i cannot stay with you. i must go yonder." and he pointed through the snow.
"whither, oh, whither?" cried pierre[56] eagerly. "let me go with you. i am lost; but if you know the way we can go together, hand in hand."
the child shook his head. "not so," he said. "i do not follow the path, and your feet would stumble. i shall find a way without sinking in the snow. i must go alone. but there is a better way for you. i leave my dove with you: she will keep you warm until help comes. farewell, friend of the lord's friends." stooping the child kissed pierre once more, upon the forehead. then, before the boy saw how he went, he had vanished from the little nest of snow, without leaving a footprint behind.
now the dove, clasped close to pierre's heart, seemed to warm him like a little fire within; and the child's kiss on his forehead made him so happy, but withal so drowsy, that he smiled as he closed his eyes once more repeating, "'until help comes.' 'there is a better way' for me."[57]
