Bertha’s apprehensions were soon dispelled; for, as she looked out, the sound of silvery bells came nearer and nearer, till at length it paused under her window, and, a moment afterwards, was heard in an opposite direction. Bertha rubbed her eyes, and strove to distinguish the sleigh from which these sounds proceeded; but she could distinguish nothing. “Can it be St. Nicholas?” thought she. Even as she spoke, mingling with the sound of the retreating bells, she thought she could distinguish the words of a song. She listened attentively; and these were the words which the wind bore to her:— “The path I have chosen Is covered with snow; The streams are all frozen; Yet onward I go. “I glide o’er the mountain, And skim o’er the lea; I pass by the fountain; Yet no eye can see— “My form or my shadow On snow-drift or mound, On hill-top or meadow, Or frost-spangled ground. “While sleigh-bells are ringing Upon the highway, And glad parties singing So thoughtless and gay,— “I pass through and over Each hamlet and hall Ere mortals discover Who gave them a call. “I pause but to count o’er The gifts for each one, And then quickly mount o’er The stile. I am gone!” “That must certainly be Santa Claus,” thought Bertha. So she carefully hung up her stockings before the fire, and went to bed. She soon became tired of waiting for St. Nicholas to come; and, in a few minutes, she was asleep. But the thoughts of Christmas had taken fast hold of her mind, and, as she slept, shaped themselves into the following dream:— She thought, that, as she was lying awake in her chamber, there appeared suddenly before her three figures, clad in white. Slowly they advanced, hand in hand, till they stood before her bedside. Then, with united voices, they chanted the following lines:— “Maiden, from the fields of air We have winged our rapid flight, Bringing gifts both rich and rare, On this frosty Christmas night. Guard them ever: they will be Of exceeding worth to thee.” They ceased; and Bertha, in great astonishment, inquired,— “What! are you St. Nicholas? Or,” she added, recollecting herself, “perhaps you are his sisters?” The visitors resumed their chant:— “Maiden, no! Thy Christmas saint Beareth gifts of mortal taint: At the touch of sure decay They shall vanish quite away. Those we bear are not of earth: Theirs has been a higher birth.” The visitors ceased; and one of their number, coming forward, commenced anew:— “I am Faith. To thee I bear Childlike trust and confidence In the ever-watchful care Of our Father’s providence. Maiden, one of sisters three, This the gift I bear to thee.” The second came forward, and repeated:—