You must know many a Christmas tale; pray, tell us one to wear
away this night of Christmas watching."
"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over
again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It
is very simple. Should you like to hear it?"
"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin, let me
strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."
When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than
usual alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:
"Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago it was--I
fell upon a hill-side. It was in a far distant country; this I know,
because, although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that
country as it is wont to be in countries to the north. Hither the
snow-king never came; flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times
the lambs found pleasant pasturage on the hill-sides. The night wind
was balmy, and there was a fragrance of cedar in its breath. There
were violets on the hill-side, and I fell amongst them and lay there.
I kissed them, and they awakened. 'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?'
they said, and they nestled in the grass which the lambs had left
uncropped.
"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hill-side; above him spread
an olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty
branches majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's
name was Benoni. Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his
crook had slipped from his hand.
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