Freddy’s picture of the Christ-child was one which had evidently been adapted from Ary Scheffer’s “Christus Liberator;” but the central figure was that of a smiling child, whose little arms were outstretched to those haggard and chained, appealing for deliverance. Around it was written the angels’ song, “Glory to God in the highest; on earth peace, good will towards men.” Dr. Richards had noted with inward bitter amusement the picture and the motto. “Good will towards men!” and all those hungry, burdened arms! and only a child to work their liberation! It was Christianity’s pictured confession of her own futility, he thought. Meanwhile, it satisfied his wife and child, who surely needed all the comfort they could get; and what had he, that was better, to give them? So he held his peace, or rather that simulation of peace which is found in silence. Real peace he had none, either to hold or let go. For, seeing no trace in all the universe of a sheltering, guiding, and protecting Father’s hand,—holding the world to be governed by blind, unconscious, irresistible force,—there were two questions ever present to his mind: one, “How would my boy endure one day of absolute poverty?” the other, “If my health should fail, as it may, who will protect him from this, or any evil?” _Blind_ chance? Even the old Romans knew better. Was not Fors Fortuna the goddess of the all-seeing, radiant dawn? CHAPTER X. HOMINIBUS BONÆ VOLUNTATIS. All the world was getting ready for Christmas; there was no doubt about that. As for South Micklegard, as the German quarter was usually called, it was absolutely upon its head with delight. For there is no season of the year that a German loves better than the winter solstice, the ancient yule feast of his far-away forbears, the birthday of the “Golden Child,” as the Veda hath it. Is it indeed the true birthday of the child Christ Jesus? Who knows! Nay, oh my brothers! who, with your factions, and the smoke of your unbrotherly strife rising to heaven, have marred every scene, every step of that sinless life,—let us be thankful for that which remains unknown. Birthday and death-day, His cradle, Golgotha, and the sepulchre whence rose His living body, the Father keeps hidden in the holy silence of His own recollection. Therefore, since with Him is neither past nor future, but an eternal now, those days are ever present with us. Each morn, each evening, He is born again, dies again, for us, in us; and finds in our hearts His Bethlehem, His Calvary, His tomb.